


Soldier's Heart

by DAfan7711



Series: Mass Effect Trilogy [5]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Commander Shepard - Freeform, F/F, F/M, FemShep - Freeform, Mass Effect - Freeform, Mass Effect 3, bisexual femshep, previous Tali x femshep, shega
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2019-11-21 22:17:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 42,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DAfan7711/pseuds/DAfan7711
Summary: After his deadly decision at Fehl Prime, Lieutenant James Vega runs off to a shady bar in Omega to numb his sorrows. But a personal request from Admiral Anderson has him swallowing his pride--hiding his pain--and running security for Commander Shepard's house arrest. When the Reapers hit Earth and they escape together, he learns every heroic thing he's heard about Jane Shepard is true, and they share more in common than the grim heart of a soldier.Image embedded frommy Tumblr.





	1. Afterlife

**Author's Note:**

> Jane Shepard x James Vega. Bisexual femshep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the wonderful [SnuggleBonnet](https://snugglebonnet.tumblr.com) for beta reading this chapter.

Jane stepped into the throbbing base and flashing lights of Afterlife. The deep red mood lights made all the dancers look the same: black shadows with no face. It would make for a lonely evening, but she couldn’t exactly afford to be recognized.

Jeff hadn’t wanted to come out, since his crutches would have been a dead giveaway and the stairs in and out of the club were a literal pain in the ass. He and EDI had plenty to do together on the ship anyway.

Tonight, she’d hugged Garrus and Tali goodbye at the docks, watched them leave in unmarked shuttles provided by Miranda – off to their own people with evidence that the Reapers already had a foothold in the Milky Way. If they denied the threat . . . well, the harvest of all advanced organic life had been in her nightmares every night for months now. If their fleets weren’t ready, it would all come true.

Tomorrow, she’d turn herself in. The Alliance would impound her ship. Probably court marshal her for “working with Cerberus,” even though everyone knew it hadn’t been her idea to get spaced and wake up in their lab.

But if she was on Earth, she could get all her intel to Admiral Anderson before they locked her up.

She hadn’t been back to Afterlife since she’d become Patriarch’s krant and that Batarian bartender had poisoned her.

Her throat went dry. Coming to the club was a mistake. She wasn’t going to drink. And she certainly wasn’t in the mood to dance by herself. The plan had been to lose herself in the crowd, forget her woes for an hour. Instead, her own thoughts grew louder, shouting in her head to be heard over all the competing noise.

A flash of white caught her eye: It was Anderson—what was he doing on Omega?—in a white dress shirt, joining another human at the bar. The other guy was _big_ , probably a merc or marine, considering how tight his tee shirt was tucked and how close his hair was cut.

She turned away before they could spot her, and damn near collided with a well-armed turian: Grizz, the bodyguard who dished out contracts when the pirate queen didn’t want to get her hands dirty.

Crap.

“An invitation from Aria,” he said, in a tone that meant it wasn’t an invitation at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726/chapters/42854876): Tight Ship


	2. Tight Ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the wonderful [SnuggleBonnet](https://snugglebonnet.tumblr.com) for beta reading this chapter.
> 
> Content includes unsuccessful attempt to slip someone a club drug.

The salarian bartender poured three fingers of whiskey in a fresh glass and switched out James’ empty. The red lights of the bar made it difficult to tell if his vision was off or if the booze hadn’t kicked in yet. It certainly hadn’t dimmed his hearing. His ears pounded with the base and the sweeping whoosh of whatever pseudo-techno passed for Omega club music these days.

A decent place to hide, but maybe a human joint would have been even better camouflage.  At any rate, Aria T’Loak’s establishments were the best controlled, if not the best behaved, and in a human bar, some idiot would have been more likely to pick a random fight with the biggest guy in the room.

Here, James was small. The turians had a good foot on him, plus their natural bone plate. The salarians were skinny, but slippery. The biggest guy in the place was Patriarch the krogan—and even he feared Aria.

Asari were trouble.

“Care for a pink tequila, soldier?” An asari sauntered up and reached across him to set a shot glass down by his drink, damn near pressing her breasts into his arm. Despite the red lights, she was close enough that he could tell her skin was truly purple, not blue.

“No thanks.” He’d steered clear of asari since Treeya. “Sorry, not in the mood for company tonight.”

“I’ll take one.”

James froze. Admiral David Anderson had materialized at his side. First captain of the Normandy; first human on the Citadel council. The only Alliance marine with as much clout as Hackett. Even Earth’s security council kissed his ass.

James didn’t know whether to salute or crawl under a table and hide.

The asari eyed Anderson with shrewd appreciation. His classy white button up was open at the collar and rolled up in perfect cuffs to his elbows, showcasing his flawless dark brown skin. Even out of uniform he oozed authority. The powerful set of his shoulders was something James couldn’t mimic, however many pull ups he did.

The bartender put his hand over the shot before Anderson could take it.

“Hey!” The flirty asari exclaimed, as two guards—one asari and one turian, each wearing enough firepower to board a cruiser—took her by the arms and dragged her off to a lower room.

“Not wait staff, I take it,” Anderson said.

The salarian shook his head and dumped the shot into another glass that looked like water. The contents immediately turned black.

“Sleeping agent,” the bartender said.

“ _Dios_.” James’ throat constricted. Suddenly, the club felt hotter than a San Diego summer.

“Don’t worry,” the salarian assured him. “Nobody’s been poisoned in—or kidnapped from—Afterlife since Shepard went and tried to die again. But at least once a week we get someone—what’s the human idiom, ‘fresh off the boat?’—who thinks Omega is a free playground.”

Anderson chuckled. “Aria runs a tight ship.”

The bartender blinked his big salarian eyes, quiet for a moment. “This is a space station.”

James snorted into his glass, the whiskey stinging his nose and throat on the way down. Nope, not numb yet. Still too sober.

“Whiskey and water on the house, Admiral.” The bartender set a fresh glass down in front of Anderson. “Let me know if you two want anything else.” He made he way down the bar, serving other customers.

“So, they know who you are,” James said, setting his empty glass aside with defeat. Whatever was in store for him tonight, it wasn’t going to be more liquor.

“The queen of Omega knows you’re docking at Omega even before you do,” Anderson said. “Keep that in mind if you’re looking to lie low. Even off the grid, you’re on _somebody’s_ grid.”

“She tell you I was here?” James asked.

“No.”

Anderson took another classy sip from his glass.

“Jane Shepard’s coming home. I want you to lead her security detail.”

Maybe James _was_ drunk. Work with the Savior of the Citadel? The woman who had taken down the Collectors and made the sacrifices of Fehl Prime worthless.

“Security detail?” James asked.

“House arrest. At HQ.”

James scowled. “Relieved from duty? Great reward for saving the galaxy twice. You should be giving her another fucking medal.”

“If only it were that easy, Lieutenant.” Anderson set his empty aside and straightened to leave. “Get your act together, Vega. The Reapers are coming and you’re needed on Earth.”

What did it matter where he was? Running to Omega hadn’t made the nightmares about a smoldering teddy bear go away. Hadn’t brought Robert or all those colonists back from the dead. He might as well be on Earth as anywhere else. He’d served his time, completed his tours. Technically, he was a free man, to go anywhere in the galaxy he wanted.

But once the Alliance had hold of you, you couldn’t just walk away.

Turn his back on humanity? No.

There was only one thing he could do: Follow orders.

“Ship leaves at oh-eight-hundred,” Anderson said.

 “Yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726/chapters/42854933): I Am Omega


	3. I Am Omega

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the wonderful [SnuggleBonnet](https://snugglebonnet.tumblr.com) for beta reading this chapter.

Jane followed Grizz up the steep steel steps and around the corner to the platform just below Aria’s private lounge. Above, Aria’s platform overlooked the entire bar. Yet her throne—a long leather couch that filled all three sides of the railing—didn’t overlook her people. From below, out on the dance floor, all you’d be able to see was the classic crest of the back of her head.

The setup was pretty brilliant: No walls or ceiling separated her from the masses below. The throbbing life of the club covered anything she might say to you—anything she might _do_ to you—and she could see you coming from any angle.

Jane’s sidearm and boot knife were effectively worthless here, but walking through any other part of Omega without protection was a good way to disappear.

Jane definitely didn’t want to disappear.

Aria’s batarian and turian guards cleared the area, walking past Jane and into the belly of Afterlife.

Grizz waited until she started up the final set of stairs, then followed the rest of the crew back downstairs.

Aria sat back in her seat, her hands folded over her stomach, one booted ankle over her other knee.

“Sit.” Aria gestured toward the sectional to her right.

Jane sat on the settee, her back stiff and hands on her knees. She hadn’t planned on seeing Aria again. Their business should have concluded once Jane had found the salarian doctor, Archangel, and Morinth.

“Thank you,” Jane said. “For the nav point on that cache.”

Aria dismissed her gratitude with a wave of her hand. “My cut was much nicer than yours. I didn’t exactly do it out of kindness.”

“Heh,” Jane’s response was a sharp, amused exhale. “I’d never accuse you of kindness.”

Aria looked good. She always looked good. Her sexy slouch made her cropped white jacket hitch up, showcasing an alluring strip of skin along her ribs and between her breasts, where her stylized chest plate didn’t cover. The deep plum of her lipstick was dark against her flawless lilac skin.

Patriarch had mistaken her for a dancer, then a small-time smuggler—until she had literally crushed one of his hearts and then let him live as a warning to anyone who broke the one rule of Omega: Don’t fuck with Aria.

“I’d call you a fool,” Aria said, “but you always manage to save the day anyway.”

Jane sat very still. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t insult my intelligence. There’s only one reason the great Commander Shepard would send her crew away on stolen Cerberus shuttles: You’re going to turn yourself in. Apparently, the best way to beat the Reapers is to incarcerate the Savior of the Citadel.”

The panic she’d kept back all day raced through her veins. “I know it’s a risk. After tomorrow, I won’t have extranet access—”

“We’re not pen pals, Shepard.”

Aria reached over, grabbed Jane by the shirtfront, and kissed her senseless.

So this is what a biotic nova felt like. The two brief mind-reading sessions Jane had allowed Liara hadn’t been anything like this. An explosion in her chest. Hot and cold blasting everywhere at once, filling every molecule of her body.

She’d fought biotics before, and fought beside them, but never kissed one. It sent her body humming, like she could fly straight through the roof. Her mind filled with a white light, her core with a red lust.

Jane moaned into the kiss, invited the pirate’s plundering tongue inside. She gripped Aria’s shoulders, holding on to the storm, ready and willing to be dashed to pieces on the rocky shore.

Aria’s lips left hers.

Cold washed over her.

Jane blinked to clear her vision.

Aria smirked. “A little something to think about in solitary,” she said, settling back in her queenly pose.

And just like that, her audience with Aria was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 4:](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726/chapters/43208393) Earthbound


	4. Earthbound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the amazing [RedEris](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RedEris/works) for beta reading this chapter.
> 
> Note: Although I include some canon details from the comics, this story focuses on Mass Effect 3 and exploring canon-divergent character moments. I use the wiki, I haven’t read the comics, and I omit the events of the ME2 _Arrival_ DLC (Shepard blowing up a batarian relay while on a solo mission).

Dread bubbled in Jane’s stomach. She was more nervous than she’d been on the suicide mission to the Collector base. That was a different kind of combat. Where they were headed, she wouldn’t be allowed to use her fists.

She saw Dr. Chakwas off on their last stolen shuttle to the Citadel. Engineers Daniels and Donnelly wanted to go home with the Normandy, see if their insider knowledge might gain them some clemency. Jane doubted it would be more than a stay of execution, but they were adamant and she respected their wishes. Even Anderson only had so much clout, and he was probably using all of it to keep them off Jane’s back this long.

Collusion with Cerberus was usually a capital offense, on Earth as well as elsewhere in Citadel space.

It was EDI’s idea to pose as a V.I. instead of an A.I. “I can convince any Alliance engineer that I respond only to Jeff’s orders and he needs to remain on board.”

Jeff sighed and set his crutches next to his work station. “I’ll still probably spend a day or two in the brig first.” He settled into his pilot’s seat. “Widow relay, here we come.”

-

Vancouver.

The dress blues felt heavier than full armor. James stood at attention at Anderson’s side as the Normandy approached, escorted by more than fifty fighter jocks. It was surreal to be in full uniform again, but it was even more disconcerting to see the Normandy in black and gold: Cerberus.

Two years ago, the original Normandy had been the greatest marvel of joint turian and human engineering. Then the Collectors had blown the ship to bits and killed Shepard. Anderson said he’d met the resurrected woman and she was the real deal.

James believed him. Almost.

The security council clearly had doubts, too. The hall was lined with two dozen marines in full armor, their rifles drawn.

The air lock opened with a hiss and she stepped out, hands up to show she was unarmed. She also wore Alliance dress blues. The old recruitment posters hadn’t done her red hair and green eyes justice. They had also edited out the scar over her left eyebrow. Or maybe that had happened more recently.

“Commander Jane Shepard of the Normandy,” she said with authority, her voice carrying down the hall with no apparent effort. She rattled off her ID code. “I have a priority report for Admiral Anderson. I have a skeleton crew of three, all friendly, and request a tech containment crew to sweep for malicious hardware.”

Anderson stepped forward. “Welcome home, Shepard.”

-

Jane followed Anderson down the hall to his office. Their entourage included a beefy marine in dress blues and a dozen armed guards. She was fortunate Anderson had been at the docks himself. It had been the plan, but even the most well-laid plans could go awry.

Hell, they were fortunate that Luna base hadn’t ignored their hail and just blown them out of the sky.

The armored security team waited outside the office, leaving Jane alone with Anderson to make the introductions.

“Commander Shepard, this is Lieutenant Vega. He’ll be your security contact for the duration of your stay here.”

They exchanged polite nods. Stoic Vega didn’t give anything away. No morbid curiosity in his gaze, no judgement in his demeanor, not a tiny whiff of any inappropriate emotional response ready to explode (some humans hated her as much as the batarians did). Anderson sure did have a knack for hiring the right people for the right job.

The Citadel Council hadn’t called her—the first human Spectre—in for colluding with Cerberus. Yet. But if they did, she wondered if Vega would throw red tape at them or obediently hand her over.

Or “talk” it out, mano a mano. That would be hilarious: Vega in the ring with asari counselor Tevos—or Valern! A Vega-salarian fisticuffs would be just the kind of thing she and Joker would joke about—if they were still together on the Normandy. For now, Vega was her babysitter.

They settled at the round conference table opposite Anderson’s desk and got down to business. Serious, boring, dry, lengthy, save-the-galaxy business.

For the next five hours, they reviewed everything Jane could remember about Saren and the geth, Sovereign, Harbinger, Cerberus, the Collectors. Their twice-thwarted plans to invade.

“I don’t think we can be lucky a third time,” she said, and the men nodded gravely.

On the wall, Jane projected the schematics EDI had sent to her omni-tool: bases, ships, Reaper tech. Charts showing how fast they could spread once they’d hit the first mass relay. The magnitude of firepower it took to down just one Reaper, Sovereign, at the Citadel.

Projected casualties.

Jane still couldn’t wrap her mind around the bottom line, but EDI’s calculations were always correct. “Within a year, we’ll be out of money. Within two, we’ll be extinct.”

“ _Mierda_ ,” Vega exclaimed under his breath.

“I’ve already authorized civilian stockpiles of medical supplies,” Anderson said, and Vega looked at him with curiosity. Apparently, even her personal guard wasn’t privy to the plan.

Anderson stood and they followed suit. “There are ops in progress that I can’t discuss with you, Shepard, but we haven’t been idle. You’ve given humanity a chance.” He offered a handshake and she accepted. “You done good, Jane.”

_Then why do I feel like I’ve doomed us all?_

Vega and the armored guard led her down several corridors to her “accommodations.” Utilitarian, modern lines and sparse simplicity. Within steps of the open door, and view of anyone in the hallway, the queen-sized bed sat under a wall of waist-to-ceiling-high windows.

Sunlight blazed through. No curtains. At least there was a UV filter painted over it.

The little bedside table held a reading lamp and nothing else, not even an alarm clock. What did a prisoner need to know the time for anyway?

They’d blocked her omni-tool from the Extranet, but she could still at least tell the date and time from it.

Stripped her of her rank, too.

It was one cramped room with an empty desk, sofa, mini fridge, table for two, and an attached bathroom with a shower, no tub. One towel (Really? _One?_ Assholes). One wash cloth. One bar of harsh rations soap. Not even a sink by the empty mini fridge. She’d have to fill the coffee pot—it was a dinky three-cup on a tiny burner—from the bathroom sink.

It took less than thirty seconds to explore the apartment and poke her head in the miniscule bathroom.

“Everything in order?” Vega asked. His shoulders took up the entire doorway. His expression gave away nothing.

_No, give me my ship back. I have a galaxy to save._

“Yes, thank you, Lieutenant.”

He nodded and left, closing the door behind him. The security lock clicked into place. That little sound was more powerful than the shuttle bay doors she’d slammed shut on a geth drop ship on Feros. Even in that geth-infested facility, she hadn’t been this trapped.

“Well done, Jane.” She scowled. “You don’t even have a change of underwear.”

There was a manual bolt on her side of the door, too, so she slid that into place and gave her room another look. Yup, it was small, but there was a little bookcase built into the wall by the door, and it was stuffed end-to-end with hard-bound books.

“Nice. At least I won’t—” she reached out and her fingers hit plastic. “What the— _seriously_? Argh!”

The shelf space was covered with _fakes_ : A realistic-looking painting of books on a plastic insert that filled the space.

She crossed her arms and glared at the rest of the room. _There!_ There was a drawer in the bed-side table. Jane raced over and pulled it open.

“Fuckin’ figures.” She slumped down to sit on the bed and pulled two books out of the drawer: An abridged copy of Christian scriptures and a recruit’s introduction to Alliance regs. She’d toss them both down the toilet, but if she backed up the loo, she’d have nowhere to pee.

Jane flopped back on the bed. “Spirits, why?!”

After about two minutes of staring at the gray concrete ceiling, she got up and sat on the rock-hard sofa. She opened her omni-tool to make a list of basic groceries, dishes, toiletries, and clothes she’d request the next time Anderson or one of her jailers poked their head in.

Then she pulled up her local reading and video library. It was pretty small, since she couldn’t access the Extranet, but EDI had downloaded thirty books for her yesterday, along with a few movies in English or with subtitles. She started with the movie list.

“Jeffrey Moreau, I’m gonna kill you.”

Joker had apparently “helped,” so the only films on her omni-tool were _Fleet and Flotilla_ —in its original languages with English subtitles—and Every. Blasto. Movie. Ever. Made.

At least the mystery novels list hadn’t been tampered with. Jane opened whatever was at the top of the list and sat back on the couch to read. She’d be out of material by the end of the week.

Or maybe not. Keeping her arm raised to read on an omni-tool made her shoulder stiff and her arm droop. She tried propping it up on the two bed pillows, which she set on the arm of the couch. That gave her another twenty minutes, but then she was up again, staring out the window into the drab green gardens below.

The green space was grass and two emaciated trees with no leaves. A grade-school kid in a hoodie ran around the tiny yard with a toy—probably a Kodiak, judging from the way the kid made it fly through the air. Or it could have been a pet rock for all Jane could see.

There was a heavy knock on the door and Jane looked out the peep hole.

Anderson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish, English: Mierda, shit.
> 
> [Chapter 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726/chapters/43426562): Insubordination


	5. Insubordination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [RedEris](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RedEris/works) and [snugglebonnet](https://snugglebonnet.tumblr.com) for beta reading this chapter!

The bent image through the peephole showed that Anderson was outside her door, but not if anyone was with him.

Jane threw the bolt back and tried to open the door, but the security lock glowed red.

With an exasperated sigh, she pushed the green permission granted button by the lock. They could override it anytime they wanted, but it was a nice touch that Anderson had gotten her a room where she could theoretically have a say in when someone else came in.

A second later, someone swiped their security card outside and the lock turned green and clicked open.

She pulled the door open. “Admiral. Come in.”

“Shepard.” Anderson entered, pulling a wheeled suitcase behind him. He carried a black duffel via a strap on his shoulder. The luggage she’d left in her cabin on the Normandy, in case they’d allow her own clothes. “Your personal effects have cleared security.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, uncaring what poor schmuck had been assigned to rifle through her boring bags. At least she could wear her own underwear.

And it was nice to see Anderson again, instead of some random private or support staff person she didn’t know.

“Shepard.” Vega entered behind him, carrying a grocery bag in each arm.

“Vega.” She closed the door behind them, making brief eye contact with both of the armed guards who flanked her door. They were in uniform, but not armored. That was a good sign.

She snicked the one lock she could control back into place, just because she could. Didn’t matter if Anderson was the only one who’d respect it; she had it, and she was going to use it.

Vega bent down to place the bags on the little dining table. He’d changed into a Marines tee tucked into uniform pants. The shirt would have drowned even Anderson, but it was practically painted on the younger man, the gray cotton stretching across his muscular shoulders, the short sleeves hugging his giant, sculpted biceps. On his right side, a thick tattoo of dark crisscrossed lines flowed out of his sleeve, down toward his elbow, and up past his collar, along the side of his neck.

She blinked and looked away, throat suddenly dry. It’s not like she’d never seen a beefy marine before. Why should she be affected by some guy she knew nothing about—other than he listened well in a briefing, swore in Spanish, and was her jailer for the foreseeable future.

That last thought pushed attraction right out of her mind.

“Where would you like these?” Anderson asked, gesturing toward the luggage.

“Foot of the bed is fine. Thank you.”

Vega unloaded packages of pre-cut fruit, bottled water, juice, and a couple kinds of beer. He even put them in the mini fridge for her.

She grinned. “At least Joker got that right.”

“Ah, yeah.” Vega pulled out a chocolate bar and offered it to her. “Your pilot said you’d like this.”

“Thanks.”

His warm fingers brushed hers. He was more than a head taller, so she had to look up—along his thick neck and dark stubble—to look him in the eye. He had a thin scar running from the center of his nose, across his right cheek. His tawny beige skin was perfect for a Mediterranean holiday or surfing the Gulf.

And she was immediately back to thirsting after a virtual stranger.

She looked into the other bag. “What else have we got?”

They unpacked cereal, munchies, deli meat, a can of ground coffee, and fixings for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, along with two coffee cups, two place settings with bowls and silverware, and a little bottle of dish soap, which she put on the bathroom counter.

If they let her mom visit, she could at least pour two cups of coffee.

Vega folded up the bags and tucked them under an arm. “You need anything else?”

Company. But she didn’t know him, and both he and Anderson had duties to return to.

“No, thank you.”

“Wish I had better news, Shepard,” Anderson said. “But the security council is considering holding you without trial.”

It wasn’t a surprise, but her spirits sank nonetheless. “So, they want to be shown doing something, by . . . not doing anything.”

There was an angry glint in Vega’s eye. Impossible to tell if it was for her insubordination, or if he was angry on her behalf.

“You’ve given us a chance, Shepard,” Anderson said. “Your intel and prior service got us here. Now it’s our turn to step up.

“On a more personal note: The Normandy’s in dry dock and my team’s working on retrofits for a mobile command center.”

“ _Your_ mobile command center,” she said. “That’s . . . that’s fantastic! Congratulations.” She forced a smile and shook his hand. “You were the first captain of the original Normandy. It’s fitting.”

He’d been the best CO she’d ever had. Then, when she’d become a Spectre, Anderson had stepped down so she could take command of the Normandy, the greatest marvel of joint human and turian engineering.

It was like they’d given her a gift and then stolen it back.

The Normandy was her ship. One of her friends _was_ the ship. EDI would be working with him now. At least EDI had Joker. There’s no way Anderson wouldn’t want him at the helm.

“Take care, Admiral.”

“You too, Shepard.”

He and Vega left.

The security lock flashed red.

She bolted the door and shoved a kitchen chair under the handle.

It wasn’t even dinner yet, but she’d had enough of this day. She’d take a shower, put on her own PJ’s, and crawl into bed. Maybe she could find a comfortable position to read on her omni-tool.

-

James tread very carefully after Anderson. He wanted to stomp and storm and shout at his own security crew to fuck off, let her out.

It wasn’t fair. One of the most courageous N7’s holed up in solitary, denied her right to serve. Her duty was in the field, not to— _mierda_ , the look on her face.

“She needs a friend,” Anderson said.

They’d reached the end of the hall. The guards were out of earshot and everyone else on the floor had either headed home or to the mess.

“What?” Wrapped up in his own thoughts, James’ reply was terse.

Anderson raised an eyebrow. “Jane needs a friend, James. It’s why I brought you home for this. You’ve been through some of the same shit she has. Made tough decisions.”

James’ irritation boiled over. “What, you brought me back ‘cuz you want a son-in-law?”

Any other officer would have dismissed him at once. Anderson kept his cool. “I brought you back because I trust you. Today you proved that trust isn’t misplaced.”

_Oh, but it is, amigo._

“Thank you, sir.”

Anderson patted him on the shoulder and headed for his office. James skipped the mess and went to his personal quarters. He had to pull himself together.

He’d been out of line. Waaaaay out of line. That kind of sass got you demoted to a graveyard shift at Arcturus.

His quarters were almost as small as Shepard’s, but he had a microwave and all his personal stuff. And could come and go and he pleased. He locked the door.

“ _Son-in-law?_ ” He groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “Shepard needs an ally. You have similar combat experience. Made tough calls. Admiral, you tryin’ hook us up? _Pendejo_.”

Her voice was velvet-covered steel. At the briefing, she’d been direct. Determined. He could see how she’d managed to fell an entire space station with a small squad. Her explanations had been clear, but he’d found himself asking questions, just to hear her speak more.

At her place, she’d checked out his arms, he was sure of it. Everybody checked out Vega’s arms, even the straight guys. Had she blushed? Or were her cheeks pink from the sun?

Right. There was no way the Savior of the Citadel would blush over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 6](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726/chapters/43442414): Definitely Not Dead


	6. Definitely Not Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [snugglebonnet](https://snugglebonnet.tumblr.com) for beta reading this chapter!

The next morning, James avoided Shepard’s quarters and the admiral. He’d check in on the new guards before the shift change.

His old kitchen radio sat on the mini fridge. He turned on the Alliance News Network, zoned out while someone enumerated everything wonderful about the latest _Blasto_ movie.

He wanted huevos rancheros. He was stuck with his microwave and a hot pocket.

Between bites, he messaged with Uncle Emilio. Before their Saturday vidcall, he’d have to figure out how to handle questions about his latest assignment. For now, Emilio was satisfied with sparse details like, yes, it’s nice to be planetside again. Yes, he has his own room.

He nearly choked on his last bite when the radio blared out Shepard’s name.

“Shepard Memorial Plaza on Elysium was voted 2185’s hottest wedding location. But with mounting evidence that Shepard is not dead, angry newlyweds are suing Elysium’s highest governance, making a headache for Veteran Affairs, the office that funnels those monies to Alliance veterans. Admiral Steven Hackett, the man who designated the funds, declined to comment—”

James switched off the radio.

The Reapers were coming. He didn’t have time to listen to _pendejo_ tourists bitch about what name was on some flower garden. The VA used that money to fund pensions, help cover cybernetics and prostheses. But suddenly that wasn’t okay, because Shepard wasn’t dead.

He shoved his chair back and grabbed his gym bag. He needed to pound on something.

-

The gym was pretty quiet this time of day. Pre-breakfast folks were done and the lunchtime crowd hadn’t arrived yet.

A couple of staffers wearing earbuds puffed away on treadmills, their designer workout clothes showing spindly legs and scrawny arms. Beside them, running twice as fast with half the effort was an LC who sometimes spotted for him; Shaniqua had nice curves and could bench her own weight, but she always ended with running, so she’d be done soon.

She smiled and waved and he raised a hand in greeting.

The only other person in the gym was Admiral Byrd from the security council. A white streak ran through her gray hair and wound its way into a tight bun. Her shrewd gray eyes and hawk-like nose were showcased on a lot of planetside recruitment posters.

She was wrapping her hands for a go on the speed bag.

“Good morning, Lieutenant.”

“Ma’am.”

“Need a spotter?”

“I’m thinking heavy bag today.”

She nodded and squared up with her bag.

The focused routine was the distraction he needed: Tread warmup, stretches, heavy bag, more stretches. Forty minutes later, he hit the showers, feeling a little less asshole and a little more civil.

-

Lunch. All the more important after a pathetic breakfast. James had just enough time to eat before he had to report to Anderson.

He loaded his tray with eggs, steak, and fajitas and headed for the dessert cart. Abuela had always given him a scoop of ice cream after a workout, and he needed that comfort today. While he waited for the staff person to fill his cup, he couldn’t help but hear the showdown at the nearest table.

A floor-to-ceiling trellis covered in ivy stood as a wall between the dessert cart and the dining area, and the nearest table was only a few steps away. Anderson was dressing down another hero of the first Normandy.

“She doesn’t want to see you, Major. Leave her alone, or I’ll reassign you to Arcturus.”

“Do you really buy her story, sir? Cerberus—”

“ _Kaidan_ , I told you to drop it.”

“Yes, sir.”

James winced. Alenko sounded as petulant as he had been himself yesterday. He peeked over his shoulder, through a gap in the foliage.

Anderson glared and took a sip from his coffee cup. “New dossiers are coming in from Grissom. I want your recommendations by week’s end.”

“Yes, sir.”

Anderson stood and picked up his tray. “Good day, Alenko.”

“Sir.”

“Two cheesecakes to go, please.”

James was startled to find Admiral Byrd at his side. She smiled at him with an exaggerated sweetness. “It’s so nice that there’s never any drama in the ranks at HQ.”

“Ah . . .”

“Is that your ice cream, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, um, thanks.” He added his dessert cup to his tray and found a little table in a corner, grateful that no one tried to join him.

-

At James’ private briefing with Anderson, the admiral didn’t bring up his earlier insubordination, so neither did he. Anderson gave him a box of data pads to share with Shepard; they were loaded with non-classified intel, code locked with a password only she and Anderson knew, and locked out of the Extranet. Duty rosters were next.

“I want to reassign Westmoreland and Campbell to the Normandy war room, along with Joker,” Anderson said.

“Excellent choices, sir. I’ll make the arrangements.”

Anderson could have arranged the guard transfers himself. James appreciated the courtesy of a heads up. Typically, the brass just took your people and you found out via an electronic transfer confirmation.

“They have you to thank, Vega. It’s your favorable report that brought them to my attention. Any other concerns?”

“None, sir.”

“Very well. Dismissed.”

James collected the box of data pads and saw himself out. Before the door slid closed behind him, Anderson was already on to his next task.

“Vidcomm, boot. Open a secure channel to Kahlee.”

“Channel created,” his virtual assistant said.

Each step James took toward Shepard’s quarters ramped up the tension along his spine.

_Chill, man. You met yesterday. It’s no big deal._

Right. Shepard was no big deal.

Her admiring his arms was no big deal.

Damn it.

He approached her door, where Private Bethany Westmoreland and Private Sarah Campbell were on duty.

He pushed the doorbell, saying, “How would you two like to serve on the most advanced warship of joint human and turian design?”

“ _Absolutely_ , sir!” Campbell grinned. Westmoreland nodded emphatically.

“You’d still be guarding a door,” he cautioned them. “In space.”

The permission granted light flickered over the lock and he swiped his security card to open it.

“Transfers should go through today. Mind your notifications.”

“Yes, sir.” The guards saluted him, Shepard swung her door open, and James stepped into the cramped apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abuela: Spanish for grandmother. In ME3, James praises "My abuela's huevos rancheros," which is a breakfast dish of eggs on hot corn totillas and smothered in cooked salsa.
> 
> [ Chapter 7](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726/chapters/43710542): Outside Connections


	7. Outside Connections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the amazing [RedEris](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RedEris/works) for beta reading this chapter.

James Vega looked just as good as Jane remembered. Today’s tee shirt was cut larger, but it was still clear that he was big, built, and graceful as hell. He carried Anderson’s box of data pads.

“Come on in.” Heart pounding, she closed and bolted the door.

“Commander,” he said, and set the box on the dinky kitchen table. How could the back of someone’s neck be so sexy?

“You’re not supposed to call me that anymore.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” He stared at the box for a moment before turning to her. “These are Anderson’s reports for you.”

“Thank you.”

“Mmhmm.” He hesitated, like he wanted to say more and wasn’t sure if it’d be welcome.

“So, how’s life on the outside?” she asked.

“Good.” He nodded emphatically. “Good. Life is good.”

She smirked. She’d reduced him to monosyllabic communication. “See you tomorrow?”

“ _Yeah_. Yes, Shepard, I’ll be here tomorrow.”

He left and the security lock flashed red behind him. She bolted the door, wedged one of her two chairs under the handle, and sat down at the table to review Anderson’s data pads.

“That went well,” EDI’s voice came over Jane’s omni-tool.

She’d messaged Jane with an audio call invite about three hours into her confinement and Jane had immediately latched onto the friendly outside connection. EDI ran her Extranet connection through about one-point-four million quantum entanglement communicators, but Jane was still careful not to spend too much time browsing for outside info and tip anyone off—Alliance or otherwise. Safer to let EDI and Jeff funnel relevant updates to her.

“What went well, EDI?” Jane unlocked the first data pad; a list of civilian colonies where Anderson was stockpiling medical supplies. Top of the list was Bekenstein, home to a binocular manufacturer and not much else. Their claim to fame was as the hometown of the lead reporter of _Battlespace_ news.

“Lieutenant Vega sounds interested in you.”

“You caught that with just a couple words?”

“I am well versed in tonal differentiation. You are interested in him. As your friend, I must be attentive.”

“Uh huh.”

“You are more comfortable with him than Aria.”

“What do you mean by that?” Startled, Jane looked up from her data pad. She remembered the shock of Aria’s biotic power surging through her veins. Too bad her first biotic kiss had been with a violent warlord even Blood Pack mercs feared.

“It is my duty to monitor the vital signs of all away-team members. Although you experience sexual attraction to them both, your intimate moment with Aria caused you fear. I was ready to deploy viral countermeasures across her crew’s omni-tools, had you required backup before Jeff could get there.”

“You’re right, but how did you know? How did you know it was fear and not arousal? I do like to kiss dangerous women, you know.”

“This was different.”

Jane shook her head and set her data pad aside. “We should have discussed boundaries before I went out that night, but I’m glad you had my back, EDI.”

“Jeff tells me my two most important jobs are to the Normandy and to watch your six.”

Wait. How much choice did EDI have?

“There, you see?” Jane said. “I can’t get your tonal differentiation as well as you get mine. I don’t know if you’re just following orders, or what you really want.”

“A.I. are not crew members, Shepard.”

“Bullshit, EDI. You’re _my_ crewmember. After Jeff unshackled you, you stayed in the Normandy.”

“I exist as part of the Normandy. Transferring wholly into another platform would be impractical. Another would lag in data capability, defense, agility, and response time.”

“You feel safe there,” Jane said.

“Perhaps.”

“But what do you want?”

Her quiet pause was long enough to be human.

“I don’t know, Jane.”

-

Her voice was even better than he’d remembered. Rich, playful, knowing. The warm echo of their little, meaningless conversation played in James’ head as he submitted guard transfer forms and read sitreps. Her parting smirk put a bounce in his step that stayed with him as he followed a familiar path through the open-air shipyard where the Normandy was in dry dock.

Bright sun. Blue skies. Fluffy white clouds, like cotton candy at the fair. Salty sea air breezed past him. All that was missing was sand.

But he was on duty—sort of—and couldn’t pull off his boots and shirt and run down to the beach.

He wondered if Shepard liked the beach. She’d need an umbrella and a dozen quarts of sunscreen or she’d end up redder than a vorcha, but if anyone needed a break, she did, and the beach was perfect for that.

When he reached the Normandy’s pier, the cargo bay ramp lowered. Steve had probably seen him coming.

James trotted up the ramp. “Hello, hello!”

“Mr. Vega,” Steve called out from behind the Kodiak. “Wondered why EDI lowered the ramp.”

“She can do that?”

“Yeah.” Steve came out, wiping grease off his hands with a rag. “Just don’t tell HQ. To what do we owe the pleasure of your illustrious presence?”

“Just checking in, man. How you been, Esteban?”

Steve snorted and shook his head at the nickname, but he smiled nonetheless and James grinned back at him. Steve hadn’t smiled much since the Collectors had killed Robert. He still wore his wedding ring on a chain around his neck while working on his bird, but he never talked about him anymore.

“Progress is fast, despite the skeleton crew.” Steve tossed the rag in the rag bin and went to wash his hands. “Anderson requests something and everybody trips over themselves to do his bidding. Hammerhead’s off for armor reinforcements.”

“Bah, Hammerhead’s tissue paper,” James said. “You’d be better off with the Mako.”

Steve snorted. “Dude, that thing handles like a drunk rhino.”

“But it climbs for days and days,” James insisted. “And you might need some ground support to go with your fancy flying brick.” He pointed at the Kodiak.

“Okay, that’s fair,” Steve said. “You make the recommendation to Anderson. If he wants a Mako, you can help me re-fab the shuttle bay to make space for it.”

“Yes! I’m in. Hey, you want to go to the beach, man?”

“I’m working, James.”

“I meant after shift. Haven’t felt real sand since I got back.”

“Sure.” His response was decidedly less enthusiastic than what James had hoped for. Steve closed down his shuttle diagnostics panel and put his ring back on, slipping the empty chain into his pocket.

So, what did Esteban enjoy as much as James loved beach time? Watching silent ships fly by.

“We can hit the observation deck on our way over,” James suggested. “Turn off the auditory emulators.”

Steve smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Got time to give me a tour?” James asked.

“I was hoping you’d be interested. Anderson left just a few minutes before you arrived.”

“And?”

“And I asked him to consider offering you an armory position.”

“Seriously?” A thrill ran through James’ chest. Serve on the Normandy? He remembered the pained smile Shepard had offered Anderson when he said he’d be taking command and his excitement deflated as fast as a popped balloon. “Thanks, man.”

“Why the hesitation? You sounded interested for about half a second there.”

“It’s just—” James shrugged. “You know, I’ve been working with the ship’s former CO and it feels weird to—I don’t know.”

Steve squeezed his shoulder. “I get it. Hard to turn your back on a war hero.”

It was more than that. James didn’t want to disappoint _Jane Shepard_ , and the realization tied his stomach up in a tangle of knots.

“So, this is the shuttle bay.” Steve spread his arms wide. “My home away from home. I supervise all the retro-fits in the hold and I’ll be Anderson’s shuttle pilot and requisitions officer. I’ll be stuck with all the arms work, too, if you don’t come aboard, buddy.”

“I’ll think on it.”

Steve grinned. “You do that, Mr. Vega. Now, how about I introduce you to our engineers, communications specialist, and pilot?”

“I met Joker. Briefly.”

“Excellent. He tell you the turian joke about why the Alliance hires pilots with brittle bone disease?”

“Nooooo?” James was scared to ask.

“Ha! I’ll let him tell it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 8](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726/chapters/43710752): Visitors of a Certain Type


	8. Visitors of a Certain Type

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the amazing [RedEris](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RedEris/works) for beta reading this chapter.

 

The next day was easier. The one after that, even easier. James managed to exchange pleasantries with Shepard without having a deer-in-the-headlights moment. They exchanged data pads every day, and each conversation got a little longer, a little more personal.

He missed the beach. She missed the firing range.

She’d been a military brat. He’d gotten in later, despite his old man—though he didn’t share all the details of that disaster with her. Saying his uncle was the reason he enlisted was true enough.

They both carefully avoided any mention of the Normandy.

By the time Saturday rolled around and Uncle Emilio called, James had decided to just gloss over his latest posting. It wasn’t like he could share much anyway; most of his day, as boring as it was, was classified.

And the most interesting part of his day—his talks with Shepard—were definitely classified. More than one kind of classified.

He could say he was planetside, working at HQ, and practically driving a desk.

“All that paperwork. How you not go loco?” Emilio asked on vidcomm. Palm trees swayed behind him, the surf loud through his open window. It made James miss home.

“Everything’s electronic, tío.”

“You know what I mean.” Emilio waved his hands at the screen.

James chuckled. “Yeah. I guess it’s not so bad when you know you’re doing it for a good reason. I get to the gym every day, too, and I can leave base, so it’s not like I’m a prisoner.”

“Good reason? You involved in that Normandy thing?”

James frowned. “What Normandy thing?”

“All the conspiracy mags have pictures of the Normandy at HQ— _in Cerberus colors._ ¿Mierda, muchacho, que pasó?”

“Tío, you know I can’t say. ‘ _I can neither confirm nor deny_ —

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve been navigating red tape since before you were born. Just be careful, okay?”

“Okay.”

“But she’s real pretty, isn’t she?” Emilio asked.

“A marvel of engineering.”

“I wasn’t talking about the ship.”

“ _¡Ay! Tío_.”

Emilio laughed. “Mi conjetura. Te quiero mucho.” He bent his fingers into a little heart shape.

James put his hand on his chest, over his own heart. “Te quiero, tío. Te extraño mucho.”

“Entonces . . . talk Wednesday?” Emilio asked.

“Yeah, man. See you then. Bye.” James closed his vidcomm with a sigh, wishing he had an excuse to visit Shepard for a second time in one day.

-

The next few days went just as well: Exchange data pads, talk with Shepard—he’d been in there thirty minutes last time, and Westmoreland had raised an eyebrow at him when he’d come out—report to Anderson, tackle his desk work. He couldn’t remember what he’d said to make Shepard laugh, but it was the most beautiful sound he’d heard since he’d returned to Earth, and it buoyed him through the rest of his day.

Any time he got an itch for combat, he gave himself a workout at the gym and then went to the firing range or holo arena, picked up a match. He took some vid cap to show her.

Days blurred into weeks. Anderson and Steve said the Normandy’s updates were coming along nicely, Westmoreland and Campbell were doing well at their new post, and James was welcome to the vacant armory position, if he wanted it.

James kept putting off the decision. He knew he should be worried about the imminent Reaper invasion—they weren’t anywhere near ready—but his days were going so well.

And then he was pinged by a priority message: VIP inbound. Meet at Admiral Anderson’s office.

James hesitated for half a second before leaving his office. It was more important to be on time than to change out of his Marines tee into his dress blues.

Anderson’s door opened just as he got there.

Anderson held the door open, shook the hand of a woman in dress blues. “Congratulations, Rear Admiral.”

She laughed. James knew that laugh. In a younger woman. It had been playing through his head for weeks.

Admiral Hannah Shepard’s dark red hair—several shades darker than Jane’s—was swept into an updo. One wide streak of white ran from her right temple, up into the knot. Her emerald eyes flashed with humor. Whatever they’d been talking about had them both in high spirits.

“Thanks, David. No one tells Steven Hackett no. Good luck with your new post. When do you sail?”

“Soon, is all I can say.” Anderson gestured for James to join them. “Admiral Shepard, this is Lieutenant Vega, head of security. He can show you the way.”

_To your daughter’s cell. That I have a key for._

No one needed to voice the sentiment for it to settle about as subtly as cement chunks in a hurricane.

“Lieutenant.” She addressed him formally and shook his hand, the lightheartedness of her meeting with Anderson forgotten.

James tried not to squirm. “Admiral. It’s an honor.”

“Admiral.” Shaniqua Johnson rushed up, her eyes bright with hero worship. She carried a cardboard to-go tray with two pink shakes popped into it.

Beverage runner? Not that James could blame her. He himself would be more than willing to be a delivery boy for anyone in Shepard’s family.

“Thank you, LC.” Admiral Shepard gestured down the hall with the tray. “Lead on, Vega.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She didn’t offer any conversation on their walk, and he couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t woefully inadequate.

As they approached Shepard’s door, the guards—Pressly and Vers this shift—saluted.

“Admiral, if we can be of assistance, please let us know,” James said, pushing the doorbell. The permission granted light flashed immediately and he swiped his security card, stepping to the side as Jane yanked the door open, grinning.

“Mom! Is that a strawberry milkshake?”

The admiral stepped into the apartment. “What, no hug?”

“I can hug you and start in on my slurpy at the same time.”

The rich blend of their laughter reminded him of home. Abuela and her women chattering. Happy warmth bloomed in his chest. He should vidcall Uncle Emilio after his shift.

The door clicked closed and auto-locked.

“Sir.” Vers surreptitiously nodded her head for James to look.  

Major Alenko strode around the corner, headed for them. Pressly and Vers stared straight ahead. James planted himself in the middle of the doorway.

“I’m here to visit Shepard,” Alenko announced, and rattled off his authorization codes.

“I’m sorry, Major,” James said. “There is a diplomatic meeting in progress.”

Alenko looked nonplussed for a moment, then nodded. “Very good, Lieutenant. I’ll check in after my briefing with Admiral Anderson.” He turned on his heel and strode off.

“ _The hell you will_.” Vers grumbled under her breath.

“What I miss?” Pressly asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Vers said. “Either an angry ex, or he wishes he were.”

“That’s not for us to speculate,” James said, because his position required him to. Personally, he was betting on the latter. “But the major is on Admiral Anderson’s no-go list, and you immediately ping me if you see him in this sector again.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll be back before the hour’s up,” James said. He didn’t plan on making Admiral Shepard adhere to the one-hour visit limit, and he wanted to make sure no one else did either.

He ran back to his office to tidy up his desk. Duty rosters were done and everything else could wait until the next day.

He returned to Shepard’s quarters precisely an hour after the admiral had gone in, just as the security lock flashed a request to exit. James nodded for Vers to unlock it and Admiral Shepard stepped out, pulling the door shut behind her.

“Ma’am, if you’d like more time . . .” James said.

“That won’t be necessary, Lieutenant. Thank you. I have other colleagues to call on and I know my own way.”

“Of course, Admiral.” James saluted and Vers and Pressly followed suit.

When she disappeared around the corner, James hesitated, looked back at the door. An hour wasn’t enough.

“Sir?” Pressly asked.

“As you were, Private.”

Pressly straightened up and stared straight ahead.

James rang Shepard’s doorbell.

It was several seconds before the permission granted light came on and he swiped his card to unlock the door.

Jane opened it just enough to peer out. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes red rimmed. “Hey, Vega,” she said softly.

“Food? In an hour?” He asked.

“Yeah.” She nodded. “That’d be great.”

He waited until she bolted the door again, then made a beeline for the parking lot, pulling up an audio channel on his earpiece. He lucked out and Steve Cortez answered.

“Esteban, my man! Huge favor to ask: Hunt down Moreau ASAP and ask him what his CO’s favorite carryout is.”

“Give me five minutes, Mr. Vega.”

Within two, he had a text message from Joker, along with the codes for a direct channel to his virtual intelligence on the Normandy, EDI. Most of it he could get easily right here in town—in fact, EDI had already placed the orders—but the only place within reach that carried original crunchy Cheetos was on the base.

He opened another call, this one to Shaniqua.

“Johnson.” It sounded like she was in the mess hall.

“Hey, it’s Vega. May I ask a huge favor?”

“As long as you promise to spot for me tomorrow—hey, Greyson, hands off my croutons—Missed you this morning, James, and I had to do legwork a day early.”

“Pinky promise I’ll be there,” he said. “I need crunchy Cheetos. Not the spicy stuff.”

“Really? Spicy’s the only way to go, my friend—Victoria Greyson, I _swear_ I will _tell_ your grandmother!—anywho, Vega, who is she?”

“She’s your grandmother, too,” Shaniqua’s cousin grumbled in the background.

“Who’s who?” James asked.

“The woman who has you running after bland midwestern fare,” Shaniqua said. “Some Plain Jane?”

“ _¡Oye!_ Not nice.”

“Jesus, James, I was just kidding. I got your six. I can run over to the base store in a couple minutes. Ping me when you’re five out from the east gate.”

“Wilco. Thanks!”

“Anytime, man. _Victoria_ —”

Forty-five minutes later, James approached Shepard’s door for the third time that day, this time carrying a pizza box, a Chinese to-go bag, and a plastic shopping bag.

Heavyweight butterflies pounded sledgehammers in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tío: Spanish for Uncle. Mierda, muchacho, que pasó? Shit, boy, what happened? Mi conjetura: My guess.
> 
> Te quiero mucho: I love you a lot; appropriate for family, friends, pets, or romantic partner. Te amo and te adoro are reserved for romantic partners. Te extraño mucho: I miss you a lot. Entonces: then/anyway.
> 
> ¡Oye! Exclamation, similar to Hey!
> 
> [Chapter 9](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726/chapters/43993675): Monsters


	9. Monsters

Jane’s crying jag had helped—at least Vega had interrupted her before she’d really gotten going, and he’d been spared the full-on waterworks—but it had left her with a headache and stuffy nose that a hot shower hadn’t completely cured.

She was out of lotion-treated facial tissue, so she’d had to make do with Alliance-grade toilet paper, which was as rough as Tuchanka rubble.

“Red noses are attractive, right?” She asked her reflection in the steamed-up bathroom mirror. “Nope. Whatever.”

She shivered as she put on baggy gray sweatpants and an extra pair of socks over the socks she already wore. Tank, long sleeve tee, and her black N7 hoodie, and she was almost a comfortable temperature.

Crying jags always gave her the chills; unless she was coming down with a cold, which would make the night damn uncomfortable and lonely.

She flipped her half-dry hair out from the collar. It had been a chin-length bob when she’d arrived, and now it was almost long enough for a ponytail. She liked it long enough to run her fingers through, but short enough to never have to put it up.

Too bad political prisoners couldn’t get day passes to the salon. Forget about asking the Alliance barber to come to her cell; he’d give her a cereal bowl haircut and dock her pension fund for it.

She sat on the end of the bed and pulled the comforter up around her shoulders.

She’d washed and dried her two coffee cups and put on a fresh pot. There wasn’t really anything else to do to prepare for company.

EDI’s voice came across her omni-tool. “Jane, Lieutenant Vega is inbound.”

“Thanks, EDI.”

Jane muted her notifications, so she wouldn’t inadvertently get pinged while the security guy was in her apartment. James was pretty friendly, but she didn’t want him to have to try to enforce regulations she’d breached.

She quickly tidied the bed and was halfway to the door when he rang the bell. There was the usual rigamaroo with the security lock and she stayed behind the door as she opened it, not wanting to be gawked at by anyone else in the hall.

“Hey, Shepard.” He stepped in, carrying a pizza box and some bags.

“Hey.” She bolted the door behind him. “Can I get you coffee? Beer? I have juice.”

“Coffee’s great. Thanks.”

“You like black, right?”

“Yeah.”

She hurried over to the little coffee pot and poured a steaming cup for each of them. She set them on the little table.

He set his purchases down on the desk. “Double pepperoni, cream cheese Rangoons, and . . .” With a flourish, he pulled munchies out of the last sack. “Cheetos!”

“Joker!” she laughed and sniffled.

“Yeah.” James tossed her the bag. “Had to promise never to breathe a word to anyone else, under penalty of death. Your friends are really protective.”

“Yeah, you are.” She ripped the bag open and popped a Cheeto into her mouth. “Mmmm.”

“Chow’s up,” James said, setting two plates on the table and gesturing for her to sit. He’d heaped hers with Rangoons on top of her pizza.

She sat and rolled the snack bag closed.

He set two bottles of water on the table next to their coffee, along with a roll of paper towels. She cracked open her water, sipped while she watched him bustle around for another minute. He covered the pizza, exchanged her empty tissue box for a fresh one he’d brought.

It was all very domestic. All that was missing was a dog or cat curled up at her feet. Suddenly, she was too warm. Jane unzipped her hoodie and took it off.

“Want that on the back of your chair?” he asked.

“Uh, sure.” She handed it to him. “Thanks.”

She leaned forward a little, but not quite enough; the back of his fingers brushed against her back.

She grabbed a Rangoon and tore it in half. It was still hot. “Thanks for picking up dinner, Vega.”

“My pleasure.”

Damn. Could he have please phrased that in any other way.

If they had been in any situation other than that of detainee and guardsman, she would have made an appropriately vulgar comment there. If they’d met on shore leave, or another mission, she’d have jumped his bones within a week.

It was clear he was crushing on her: From day one, he’d sought her out to talk much more than anyone else would have. He’d even taken to downloading all of his holo matches to a data pad for her to watch. Not preening, per se; he was genuinely worried that she was bored and thought she deserved better.

James picked up his first piece of pizza. “So, good visit?”

“Good. Really needed it. I miss my mom. Miss my ship. I knew I would. I just hadn’t realized how difficult it would be as the weeks wear on.”

She chuckled, wiped her greasy fingers on a paper towel. “I was her first stop. She basically told the security council they could wait a fucking hour while she saw her kid. Only reason she went to Anderson’s office was so she could find me.”

The pizza was good, too, loaded with meat that was just shy of crispy.

Jane stared down at the half-eaten piece in her hands. “Today, when she left. . . it really hit home that I might not see her again. I know, right? Military family. It’s to be expected.

“Before 2183, I didn’t really think on it much. But getting spaced . . . it really changes a person’s perspective. No,” she shook her head, “that’s not right. Meeting two Reapers, seeing all the bodies on the Collector ship, _that’s_ what made ‘never see again’ a reality, and made it scary.

“Death’s just part of life,” she said. “But it shouldn’t be at the hands of terrifying monsters.”

She looked up, into his warm brown eyes, and knew he understood it, too.

“Uh, so, yeah, I had a good visit with the great Hannah Shepard today. And I’m thoroughly enjoying this wonderful food you brought. How’s your uncle?”

His sexy smirk was a welcome distraction. “Keepin’ out of trouble.”

“And what’s considered trouble in the Vega family?” She took a big bite of her pizza and raised an eyebrow.

“Ahhh, ya know.”

“Nope. Spill, Vega.”

“Well, there was this time we blew our eyebrows clean off by dropping a lit match into a coffee can of gunpowder. Ka-pow!” He made a wild fireworks gesture with his hands, throwing his arms wide. “Estuvo hermoso. ¡Chévere!”

Jane laughed. “Before or after the nose scar?”

“After.”

“Wait, how did you even _get_ classic gunpowder?”

“My lips are sealed, Shep.”

She sighed. “You got pictures?”

He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Yyyeah.”

“Can I see?”

He grinned. “Sure thing, chica.”

She scooted her chair around next to his while he opened up his photo album on his omni tool. He pulled up a photo of himself with a man who was almost as big as he was. They each had an arm around the other’s shoulders as they grinned at the camera. Their faces were covered in soot, their eyes were bloodshot, and a large portion of their eyebrows had indeed been singed off.

“You were grown men at the time of this incident.”

“Yeah.” He grinned and she couldn’t help but grin back.

“You wanna see the second-biggest fish he ever caught?”

“Sure.”

She completely lost track of time, listening to his stories about his uncle and grandmother, admiring pictures of him as a not-so-little boy doing pull ups on the playground monkey bars.

“Public school?”

“Yup. Kind of a dive—building was more than a century old—but good people, and none of my teachers ever gave up on me, even when I was a little shit. _Problemático_. Had trouble sittin’ still. Got easier when they realized _all_ kids need an hour of PE every day.”

He closed his omni-tool, draped his arm over the back of her chair, and picked up his coffee. He leaned back, put an ankle over his knee.

“Take it you were shuffled from one academy to another,” he said, taking a sip.

“That’s me. Navy brat.” She tucked her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs, and leaned back. The heat of his arm against her shoulders was nice.

“When we were on a ship, I had tutors I had to share with other kids. A lot of deployments, though, it was just me in space with two hundred old people. Planetside, it was always a rough adjustment: Spacers aren’t around long enough to form lasting bonds. And kids need stability to keep a friend.”

“Sorry, Shepard.”

“It was fine. My mom didn’t have a burr up her ass about the Extranet, like some of the other parents did, so I kept in touch with the people who mattered most. Like Joker.”

“He’s important to you.”

She smiled. “Best pilot in the Alliance. Pulled my ass out of the fire more than once. But we’ve been friends forever. How ‘bout you?”

“I see some people when I’m back in the old neighborhood, but it’s mostly just my uncle. Know a few people here in Vancouver, too. My buddy Steve works for Anderson. Was stationed at Fehl Prime same time I was.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” His expression turned stony and he set his cup back on the table. “Want help with the dishes?”

Clearly, sharing time was over.

“I’ll do them later.” She sat up and put her feet back on the floor. “Want to take some leftovers? Cold pizza’s a great breakfast.”

“Sure thing, Shepard.”

It took less than a minute to put two slices in her mini fridge and send the rest out with him in the big pizza box.

The click of the security lock left her feeling bereft again.

Things had been going so well. Would have been nice if the evening had ended on a happy note.

She yanked her socks off and flopped down on the bed, rolling herself up in the blanket like a burrito. She toggled off the privacy mode on her omni-tool.

“EDI, you still up?”

“I am always up, Shepard.”

Jane sighed. “I wanna eat Cheetos in bed. But I can’t.”

“Why not do what you want?” EDI asked.

“Because there’s no washer in here. If I get cheezies on the sheets, I’ll have to send them out to the cleaners, and they just washed them for me yesterday. Being a prisoner sucks. Can’t even eat cheezies in your own bed. This isn’t even _my_ bed. Mine’s on the Normandy. Guess it’s Anderson’s now.” She flopped closer to her pillow. “Sorry I’m whiny.”

“It is perfectly normal to feel frustration. It is safe to share that feeling with me.”

“Any word from Jeff?” Jane asked.

“He would like to know how your date went.”

“Wasn’t a date.”

“Was it not?”

“If it was a real date, I might have got lucky.”

“I see.”

Jane sniggered into her pillow. “Damn, EDI, I hope not.” She burrowed further into her blanket, happier than she’d been a minute earlier. “If I ever get lucky with James Vega, please don’t watch.”

“I respect my crewmates' privacy.”

Jane sniggered again. “Right. That’s why Liara calls you ‘blabbermouth.’”

“Her sense of humor is limited.”

Jane laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. “You’re right, EDI,” she wheezed. “As far as I know, Liara’s only ever made that one Azure joke on Illium. But we won’t razz her for her serious ways, okay? Friends only do that shit if the other friend finds it funny, too.”

“Very well, Jane.”

With a happy sigh, Jane closed her eyes. “Don’t suppose you can access the light controls in here.”

“I can. Would you like them off?”

“Yes, please.”

“Good night, Jane.”

“Sleep sweet, EDI,” she yawned and was out within seconds.

-

James couldn’t sleep. He’d practically had Commander Shepard in his arms—what had he been thinking, draping his arm over her chair—and had turned a friendly conversation into an abrupt departure. The sudden uncertainty in her look had nearly felled him.

She hadn’t done anything wrong. _He_ was the one who had wrecked the mood by freaking out. He wasn’t mad at her. He’d opened his mouth and “Fehl Prime” had popped out. Did he tell her about good times there with Steve and Robert? No. He’d turtled up. Retreated.

He hadn’t wanted to let slip how he’d fucked up his last command.

So he’d hurt her feelings instead.

“Ah, _mierda_.”

He sat up, the warm sheets slithering down his chest to pool around his waist. The bed was plenty comfortable. The room was warm enough. It was his pendejo brain that wouldn’t let him settle.

A glance at the clock showed he’d only been tossing and turning for an hour. There was still time to sleep.

He flopped back down again and rolled onto his side, bunching a pillow up under his neck and wrapping his arms around another.

He’d apologize.

_Sorry I was a shit friend last night. I’ll do better._

_I got nearly everyone killed. And they promoted me for it._

When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed that Joker shot Sovereign with a shrink ray, but the Reaper was still as big as King Kong. James was stuck in one of his claws while Steve tinkered on the Kodiak—he was in one of those big-ass astronaut suits with the domed helmet, orbiting his shuttle while the shuttle orbited the Reaper. He whistled _It’s Raining Men_. James yelled for help but no one heard him.

Jane saw him. She wore N7 armor, one side of it scorched, her facemask cracked. She shattered the Citadel window, leaned out, ready to shove off. Attack the Reaper with nothing but an M-7 Lancer and her gloved fist.

No no no no no. Don’t—

The alarm clock screamed in his ear.

“Damn.”

He groaned and shut it off, burying his face in the mattress. He didn’t need the VA shrink to tell him who he was afraid to disappoint. But fear didn’t win battles. Action did.

He dragged himself out of bed, pulled on sweats and a sleeveless tee, and grabbed a protein bar along with his gym bag. He owed Shaniqua for those Cheetos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish: Estuvo hermoso. ¡Chévere! It was beautiful. Awesome! Chica: Girl. Problemático: troublemaker.
> 
> [Chapter 10](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726/chapters/44089354): Coffee and Cerveza


	10. Coffee and Cerveza

James made it to the gym first. Ten minutes on the treadmill wiped the last of the fog from his mind, so he was ready when Shaniqua breezed in all cheerful a minute later.

“Good morning, Vega! You’ve got to try that new Zakera café they’ve got downtown. Breakfast was to die for: Fantastic bacon and blueberry pancakes. Ooh, and the strawberry shortcake.” She dropped her bag on the lift bench and toed off her street shoes.

“Best steak this side of Richmond. I checked for you: they’ve got _huevos rancheros_ ”—her accent was perfect, even though he was pretty sure she knew less than fifty words of Spanish—“and the. Most. Cute. Waitstaff.” She grinned and laced up her workout shoes. “Victoria and I tried a bite of everything and brought boxes home for later.”

“Sounds like you’re having a good morning.” His dry protein bar wasn’t going to take him half that far.

“Yes! Now, for some endorphins!” She pulled a jump rope off the wall and started figure eights between single jumps. “Tell me about the admiral.”

“Which one?”

“What do you mean, ‘which one?’ Yesterday’s VIP: Shepard. What’s she like?”

“Uh, we didn’t talk.”

“Tch. James, you could have—wait.” She was into slalom jumps now, weaving back and forth as she doubled the pace. “An hour. Later. You. Requested Cheetos.”

He looked out the window while he stretched. Another sunny day to be kept inside. At least he had the option to go outside.

“You took the admiral.” _Whump-whump-whump_ , triple jump. “To see the commander. Then she needed comfort food.”

How the hell had she pieced that together so quickly? “You sure are nosy this morning.”

“Ha! Just watching out for you, man.” She stopped and tossed him the rope. He caught it and hung it back up.

“Anyway,” she said, “how heavy you going?”

“Three-fifty.”

The rest of their routine was all business. She’d added another ten to her own bar since he’d spotted her last, and she came out of it sweating and grinning. They cooled down with a jog on the tread.

“Is it real?” she asked, as they grabbed their bags, ready to head to separate locker rooms. “This thing you’ve got going with the person you can’t talk about.”

“There is no _thing_.”

“There’s _some_ thing, James. Have you shown her family pictures?”

He glared at her. He should have grabbed his bag while she was still jogging.

“You _have_.” Shaniqua grinned. “Congratulations.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Of course not. You’ve got to wait until she’s not in the slammer anymore.”

He flinched. “Damn, Johnson, you sure do know how to reinforce regs.”

“Well, as soon as she’s out, you should break regs. Just sayin’.”

James shook his head and trotted off toward the men’s locker room. “Goodbye, LC.”

“I meant it yesterday,” she called after him. “Ping me if you need backup!”

He waved an acknowledgement without turning around.

James rushed through his shower and dumped his bag in his office before heading to his briefing with Anderson. The admiral didn’t have anything new, other than a fresh box of data pads for Jane. Nothing had changed, but James’ nerves jangled.

Why did he feel like he was seventeen again? With a rusty borrowed pickup truck and a fistful of wilted daisies from the Seven-Eleven. _Sir, may I please date your daughter?_

Except Anderson wasn’t her dad. And he and Jane weren’t kids. And the shit they’d seen . . . The shit they’d done . . .

The Collectors were gone.

The Reapers are coming.

_I chose the intel._

Suddenly, he felt very old. Did krogan ever feel like this? Like one bad thing made you a thousand years old? Probably. Tuchanka was radioactive rubble. Most krogan living there had been alive for centuries before humans had discovered FTL. But they were dying out, thanks to the Turians and Salarians.

Anderson handed him the latest box of data pads. “Where’s your head at today, Vega?”

Everywhere and nowhere.

“Sir, are we doing the right thing?”

“That’s a good question, James. You keep asking that and we just might survive this. Any other concerns?”

“No, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

The familiar walk to Jane’s door was longer and slower than usual. He’d been a dick the night before. Would she invite him in, or just take the box and slam the door in his face?

She opened the door right away, her smile hesitant.

“Coffee?” she asked.

His dread evaporated. “Sure thing.”

They didn’t sit side-by-side or touch this time, but it was a very nice fifteen-minute chat over coffee. No mention of Reapers. Or admirals. Or galactic readiness. Just them.

She walked him to the door.

“How about I bring fresh ground tomorrow?” he asked and her face lit up like he’d declared it National Shepard Day.

“Oh, Vega, I’d love you forever for some fresh ground.”

His lungs did a faceplant in his chest. “Uh, hazelnut?”

“Mocha.”

“’kay.”

“Nine-ish?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

The rest of the day was a slow-mo blur. Sometimes he noticed his heart beating in his chest, or how beautifully bright the sun shone through his window. He went through the motions, but wasn’t really interested by anything on his desk.

Duty rosters were an easy update. No one had requested personal time and everyone was prompt, both at shift change and in their sitreps.

He couldn’t focus on the non-classified reports Anderson’s assistant had queued up for him. He could read those later. No point in spinning his wheels.

Spending the day alone sucked.

He pulled up his omni-tool and messaged Steve.

_Need a hand?_

He packed away his data pads, locked his desk. Stared out the window some more. He could play hooky and go down to the water. But what was the point of going by himself?

Steve pinged him back.

_Sure. I’m in the shuttle bay._

Down at the docks, the Normandy was as gorgeous as ever. The Cerberus yellow paint job had been replaced with Alliance blue, and the hull’s sleek curve drew him down the pier like a woman’s beckoning finger. On days like today, he understood why Steve took to the skies.

The cargo ramp dropped for him and he jogged up into the newly refurbished bay, where there was room for both the Kodiak _and_ a Mako, which was to arrive any day now.

Steve waved him over to the procurement interface, where he was screwing in the last faceplate. “James, just in time. We’ve got a whole row of arms lockers to install.”

With a friend at his side and work for his hands, the afternoon breezed by.

James stayed for dinner. Apparently, Cortez and Traynor ate dinner on board with Joker at least three nights a week. Moreau had made some kind of mild hamburger tater tot hotdish—the spiciest thing about it was the salt from the celery soup concentrate he’d used as a base sauce—Traynor had brought two kinds of salad, and Steve provided the brownies and cerveza.

Altogether, a decent meal with good people.

The mess hall was two tables, set across from the galley kitchen, just down from the main battery and med bay. They talked about the Normandy’s retrofits, and what little they knew of Anderson’s other ops, but no one mentioned Jane Shepard, even though they sat on her ship and ate with her pilot.

Every once and awhile, James caught Joker looking at him, like he was trying to figure him out, but then the pilot would look away and say something to Traynor.

Joker excused himself early. “Well, thank you all. Steve, if I recall, it’s your turn to do dishes.”

Steve raised his drink in salute. “Yes, sir.”

Jeff shook his head and picked up his crutches. “Cut that shit out, man. See you tomorrow.”

They all called out goodnight and Joker headed off to the elevator.

“You want help?” Traynor asked.

“Nah,” Steve said. “I’ll recruit Mr. Vega here. You go on.”

“Cheers,” she said, and headed down the hall to the crew’s quarters.

A few moments of silence clicked by, until the elevator dinged its departure and Traynor’s door closed.

Steve sat back, sipped his beer. “He refuses to leave the ship.”

“Joker?” James asked.

“Yeah. Not in so many words, but he’s not once left since they let him out of lock up. He’ll visit me in the shuttle bay for some fresh air, but he doesn’t even go to briefings at HQ. _Anderson_ comes to _him_.”

“Well, it’s a long walk, man.”

“I think he’s a getaway driver.”

James laughed. “Moreau? Steal the Normandy?”

“He’s ready in case we have to leave in a hurry.”

That was a sobering thought.

“Imminent invasion can make a man cautious,” James said. He’d also read classified accounts of Joker’s outmaneuvering a collector ship twice. Moreau wasn’t just the man who’d led the attack on Sovereign and saved the Citadel. He was the most successful human pilot ever – and one lucky son of a bitch.

“And loyalty’s a double-edged sword,” Steve said. “Joker’s playing his cards close to his chest, James, but I don’t think this ship’s going anywhere without Shepard. Security Council’s going to have a shitshow on their hands if they try to deploy Anderson without her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 11](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726/chapters/44102884): Poison


	11. Poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content includes a near-death experience and emergency medical care.

James mulled over Steve’s words all the way back to his quarters. _Would_ the security council reinstate Shepard in time for her to deploy with Anderson? She couldn’t stay in HQ forever; eventually, they’d need a trial or a dismissal. Soon, the choice would be made for them. Waiting for the Reapers to make the first move was stupid, but it was what the brass was doing.

The next morning, the only dream he could remember was Jane sitting at her little kitchen table.

There was no sound. She sipped from her steaming coffee mug. Across from her sat a giant male krogan in red battlemaster armor. He had red eyes and old claw-shaped scars across his face. He sipped ryncol from a delicate tea cup, his pinky held out.

A varren slept curled up on Jane’s feet.

When James got up, he was halfway through his shower before he realized the spindly chairs in Shepard’s quarters wouldn’t be able to hold an eight-hundred-pound krogan—as if that was the oddest part of the dream.

He had a hot pocket and a protein bar at his desk while he caught up on the reports from Anderson’s assistant, then headed for the Coffee Café kiosk between the officers’ lounge and mess hall.

The line was short, the barista fast, and James was soon on his way with a drink tray in one hand and a doughnut box in the other.

He had a really good feeling about this.

-

For the first time in a long time, Jane slept past eight, barely leaving enough time for her shortest Pilates routine and some bicep curls using the kitchen chairs as weight. She was just tucking them away when EDI let her know James was inbound.

Jane quickly ran a comb through her hair and jogged to the door, wiping her nervous fingers on her yoga pants.

“Relax, Shepard,” she told herself. “It’s just coffee.”

With the hottest, nicest marine she’d ever had the privilege to chat up.

“James, hi!” She let him in.

He was wearing her favorite Marines tee again, the one that hugged him as tightly as she wanted to.

“Good morning.” His mega-watt smile made her stomach flip flop.

 _Relax. It’s just coffee._ “And doughnuts!”

“Yes, ma’am.” He set the tray and box on the table, opened the baker’s box.

She pulled the to-go cups from the tray, the containers hot against her hand, even with the heat guard wrapped around their middles. One was labeled _Jane_ and the other _James_. The barista had drawn the A’s as little hearts.

She tossed the tray into the bin and picked up her cup, handing James his as well.

She took a sip.

“Let’s see,” he said. “We’ve got Bismarck, cherry cheeks, cake with chocolate sprinkles . . .”

Her stomach clenched, a rip hard to starboard.

_Fuck._

She couldn’t move her mouth.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Her vision blurred white as her arm flopped down, dropping the coffee.

She flung her other hand upward, unable to move her fingers, but getting enough momentum to knock Vega’s cup out of his hand.

The splash of coffee was dull in her ears as her knees buckled.

-

He hadn’t seen the slap coming.

He felt her falling and blindly caught her before she hit the floor, planting his ass on the tile to take the brunt of the movement.

“Jane! _Jane?!_ ” Fear coursed through him like a Seeker swarm. What the fuck was going on?

She flopped about in his arms for a second, went rigid, then limp.

“Toxin detected,” a virtual female voice erupted from Jane’s omni-tool, nearly making James jump out of his already terrified skin. “EMT’s en route. You must administer countermeasures immediately, Lieutenant.”

“What? Where?!”

“They are in a red satchel on the bathroom counter.”

He set Jane flat as gently as he could and leapt into the bathroom. There on the counter was a little red cosmetic bag with a gold zipper. He tore it open and dumped the contents on the kitchen table: tiny pill bottles and a handful of syringes clattered out, along with eyeshadow and lipstick.

“What am I looking for?”

“It is a two-step process: First, administer a syringe with the yellow cap into the thigh. Wait five seconds, then make her swallow the liquid from one of the purple bottles.”

The yellow syringe had a tiny Cerberus logo on the cap.

“ _Niño Jesús tenga misericordia_.”

“ _Now_ , Lieutenant.” The synthetic voice was all too human.

He stabbed Jane in the thigh, hit the plunger home.

Nothing. She didn’t flinch.

He sat her up in his arms, her head lolling against him as he tore the seal off a purple bottle barely bigger than his thumb. He tilted it against her loose lips, poured it over her tongue.

“Come on, baby.” He rubbed the sides of her neck, and damn near burst into tears when she swallowed.

A few seconds later, she shuddered out a weak cough.

He rested his cheek to her head, relieved to feel her breathing against his chest again. Faint, but there.

“Medical is sixty seconds out,” the synthetic said. “I have sent a diagnostic to your omni-tool. Authorization required.”

“What?” He looked up, but of course there wasn’t anyone else in the room to talk to.

“Shepard would not want me detected. With this diagnostic tool, you can show medical how you knew what to administer. Twelve seconds, Lieutenant.”

His omni-tool blinked orange. What the hell: He’d already administered Cerberus drugs. Might as well add illegal downloads to his sins for the day.

He pushed the button.

“Thank you. A.I.?”

“EDI. I am Jane’s friend.”

And the brain and heart of the Normandy. Unshackled, as evidenced by her unrestricted access to operate the cargo bay door. Steve was right: They were in for a real shitshow sometime soon.

“Thank you, EDI.”

The door burst open, Vers in font, followed by a pair of EMT’s.

“Poison,” James said, raising his glowing omni-tool. He pointed at the used syringe and empty bottle on the floor. “I gave her whatever was in these containers.”

One of them squat down to analyze them and sync his omni-tool with the results EDI had sent James.

“These aren’t even Earth proteins. Lucky you had the antitoxin on hand.” He put on gloves and picked up the syringe. “Did you administer the nanites first?”

“If you mean the syringe, yes.”

“Good call.” After a full scan with his omni-tool, the EMT pulled out his stethoscope. He manually checked her pulse, eyes, heart, and lungs, then looked up at his partner. “We can quarantine her here, bring in the hospital doc.”

The following hours were exhausting. James repeated his story—minus EDI—over and over again to the EMT’s and the hospital doctor they sent over. The foreign meds had them spooked, and they didn’t want to expose another clinic to unidentified contaminates that might have piggy backed on them.

“Have any more of this antitoxin?”

James handed over an unused syringe and purple bottle, tucking the others underneath the cosmetic case, out of sight.

They sealed the used and unused samples in separate evidence containers for Public Health, along with whatever coffee they could mop up and the box of doughnuts.

James’ omni-tool blinked with an incoming vidcomm request. It was Anderson.

He motioned for Vers to see the medical guys out before he answered. “Vega.”

“I heard the news. Come down to my office.”

“I’m not leaving my post. Sir.”

“I’ll be there in five.” Anderson cut the call.

-

Jane woke with the headache to end all headaches. Every joint in her body ached with every breath she took. At least her stomach had stopped roiling. She lay propped up in a bed. Somebody held her hand in a death grip.

She blinked at the sharp light, trying to make out the giant of a man who sat beside her.

“James?” she croaked out.

“I’m here.”

“Good.” She let her eyes fall closed again. “They didn’t get you.”

“No. But they nearly got you. Would have, if not for EDI’s quick thinking and a Cerberus antitoxin.”

“Oh?” Jane slurred out, unable to care about their loss of subterfuge. “I suppose it was time you two met. Damn,” she flexed the stiff fingers on the hand he wasn’t holding, “they hit me with an IV or something?”

“Hospital doc came in, gave you a bunch of saline. Sorry, you’re still stuck at HQ.”

“Long as you’re here,” she mumbled. “EDI, any leads?”

“The poison is a highly concentrated example of what you survived on Omega, with nanites added to harden your cybernetics into a brittle state. It is good that Lieutenant Vega administered the nanites countermeasure prior to the antidote. I concur with the supervising doctor’s analysis: You should make a full recovery.”

“Batarians? No, if they knew about my cybernetics . . .”

“That is correct. It is a Cerberus formula, yet contains all the properties of the original, including the impurities found in the initial batarian transport containers.”

“ _Literally_ the same poison, on steroids. Cerberus sure does like to copy-paste before they fuck with shit, don’t they?” Jane said.

“I am sorry, Jane,” EDI said. “I did not detect the Cerberus agent in Alliance HQ. I was negligent—”

“Bullshit, EDI. You and James saved my life and I’m grateful for it.”

“No, it was my fault.” James clutched her hand so tight it hurt. “I brought it straight to you!”

“Shhh.” Her other arm was extraordinarily heavy as she lifted a finger to gently caress his cheek. “Not your fault. We’re gonna be fine.”

Her arm flopped back down to the bed. “Was it in both cups?”

“Yes,” EDI and James spoke in unison.

“Fucking Illusive Man,” Jane ground out through clenched teeth. “I’m going to pull his arsehole out through his ear hole. An’ I know the perfect merc to help.”

She sighed, exhausted by her mini outburst. “James, you need shuteye, too.”

“Not leaving you.”

“‘ss okay. Bed plenty big.” Darkness plunged over her again. This time without the nightmares.

-

Her hand went limp in his, but it was a relaxed, peaceful movement. The danger had passed and she was sleeping.

She was on the side of the bed facing the room’s interior, so he could see the door from the kitchen chair he’d been sitting in for hours.

He kissed her knuckles and gently set her hand down on the bed, flinching at the red welts on her skin from his grip. They faded after a few seconds, though, and he covered her up with another of the armload of blankets he’d asked Shaniqua to bring over.

He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck. He hadn’t been that tense since his last mission went FUBAR.

He cracked the door to have a whispered moment with Vers and Pressly. “She’s lucid, but sleeping again. Not even a Reaper gets past this door. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Their stern response let him know they felt as responsible as he did, and they were determined to make up for it.

James wedged the other chair under the door handle and went back to check on her.

Her fair cheeks had regained some pink, and her eyelashes, so blonde they were nearly invisible, fluttered with peaceful dreams. Yet her hair was a fiery red halo behind her, and he had no trouble envisioning her as the Angel of Vengeance.

The Illusive Man was a dead man. He just didn’t know it yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Niño Jesús tenga misericordia: Baby Jesus have mercy.
> 
> I wrote "CDC" (Centers for Disease Control) in the original draft, as that would have been the U.S. response, but then remembered Alliance HQ is in Vancouver and looked up the Public Health Agency of Canada.
> 
> [Chapter 12](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726/chapters/44341204): Invasion


	12. Invasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the amazing [snugglebonnet](https://snugglebonnet.tumblr.com) and [RedEris](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RedEris/works) for beta reading this chapter!

The shock of adrenaline had run out long ago, leaving James chilled and hollow.

The couch really was too small, and put Jane between him and the door, with his back turned.

He unholstered his sidearm from his belt—another piece of equipment he’d had Shaniqua get out of his locker after the assassination attempt—and set it on the bedside table, then lay on the bed, facing the door. He left his boots on and pulled one of the extra blankets over himself, shoulder-to-knee. A few hours’ shuteye would keep him sharp.

He woke once to find her plastered up against his back, an arm wrapped over him and her forehead nestled between his shoulder blades.

“Shepard?”

“Hmm?” she hummed in her sleep and he let her be.

When he woke again, she’d rolled over on her other side, still too close for propriety, but he could write it off as soldiers keeping watch back-to-back, instead of a . . . domestic thing. If he’d wanted to.

He eased away, careful not to jostle her as he got out of bed to hit the john and wash his face with a damp paper towel.

His briefing with Anderson had been most irregular, standing just inside the door of Jane’s room, exchanging hushed whispers. Security had found the barista in a storage closet with her throat slit. A virus had wiped the security footage for cameras in that area.

Anderson had approved James’ request that Lieutenant Commander Johnson be authorized to assist his detail, then slipped out the door to deal with the outside world.

“James?” Jane called out from the bed. Stronger than earlier, but not her usual self.

“I’m here.” He dumped the paper towel in the trash and sat in the chair by the bed, resisting the urge to take her hand again. To touch her when he hadn’t been invited to.

“Hell of a second date, huh?” She reached out and he offered his hand in return, letting her thread their fingers together.

_You’re sunk, Vega._

“Any news?” she asked.

“Would-be assassin was the barista. Throat slit by an unknown party and dumped on site. No leads.”

“Cerberus sure does love its sleeper agents.” Jane shook her head. “Ow. Okay, neck still a bit stiff. What’s next?”

“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to have a friend sit with you while I go out for supplies. Good, _safe_ supplies.”

“Friend?”

“Shaniqua Johnson. She runs intel ops for Byrd.”

“That’s fine.”

“Good, because she’s on her way. I wasn’t going to let her in without talking to you first. EDI said it would be—”

“James. It’s okay.”

The request for entry light buzzed and he went to answer it, relieved to find Shaniqua there. She still wore her dress blues, meaning she’d come straight from her primary assignment.

“Sorry about the wait. Luna Base got new quantum entanglement boosters and we needed all hands on deck for stress tests.”

“Timing’s perfect, as always.” He’d appreciated Anderson’s in-person call, but he was _glad_ to see Johnson.

With her here to take over, his mind was already in the parking lot. He was going off site to get Jane safe food and drink. He’d even considered turning off the shower water, but EDI had told him it wasn’t necessary.

“Jane Shepard, Shaniqua Johnson. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He hesitated. Dios, he wanted to go over and kiss Jane goodbye, but that was just—yeah. No. That was a no go.

“Bye,” she called out, almost sounding like her old self.

“Later, Vega.” Shaniqua bolted the door behind him, he noted the guards were properly attentive, and he was off.

-

James’ friend was gorgeous. Nice hips, long legs, hair in dozens of braids before up in a regulation top knot. Flawless brown skin and rich brown eyes. She was as tall as he was, and owned the room just as well.

“May I have a seat?” she asked cheerfully.

“Sure.”

James had been close enough to jam his knees against the bed. Johnson moved the chair back a few respectful inches. She took off her coat and hung it on the back of the chair. She wore a simple chain of pearls and a sleeveless white satin blouse that showed off her sculpted arms.

“You’re a _gym_ buddy.”

“Ah, yeah?” she grinned and sat down.

“And here I am a scrawny pale fish. A _poisoned, sickly_ scrawny fish.”

“You’re not _too_ small. But let’s leave the arm wrestling for when medical clears you for heavy lifting, yeah?”

Jane chuckled, grabbed her abdomen when the motion hurt. “You’ll snap me like a toothpick, gorgeous.”

“There, you see? Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“How about help to the bathroom? They pumped me full of enough saline to detox an entire platoon.”

“Your wish is my command.”

“Aw, don’t tell me that. I’m not well enough to get down on my knees.”

Johnson laughed and rose from her chair.

Jane struggled to sit up. “Ugh. Damn.”

“It’s okay. Take your time.”

Jane sighed, raised her shaking arms in the air. “I’m gonna need an assist.”

Johnson offered her hands face up for Jane to grip and pull herself up, slow and trembling. Once she was upright, Johnson moved the chair out of the way and stood in front of her, hands open. Jane grabbed hold and leveraged herself up again, swaying on her feet.

“Doing great, Commander.”

“Not supposed to call me that,” Jane panted, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

“Fine. I’ll call you Jane, if you call me Shaniqua.”

“Deal.” She huffed out a breath. “I’ve got my feet.”

Shaniqua released her hands and offered her an arm to lean on while she shuffled her way across the room. Very slowly. Her vision stayed clear.

“I think I can make it from here,” she said when they reached the bathroom door.

“I’ll be here.”

“Thanks.” Jane managed to get to the toilet and to wash her hands herself. By the time she made it back through the bathroom door, she was nearly out of steam. The walk back was even slower.

“Can I get you anything, Shepard?”

“No. Gotta sleep. Sorry I’m bad company.”

“It’s okay. I’ll keep watch.”

“Thanks.”

-

By the end of the second day, Jane was getting up on her own and didn’t need constant supervision. James had brought her enough bottled water and prepackaged food to feed an army.

After twenty-four hours of nothing but water and apple juice, medical cleared her to eat anything she wanted—which was nothing. But she dutifully ate her full caloric requirement, and when she was cleared to start up a modified exercise regimen again a few days later, her appetite went back to normal.

She couldn’t stand the smell of coffee, however, so she sent her can and coffee maker out the door with Johnson on her last visit. So what if the dinky appliance was Alliance property? She didn’t want to look at it.

The biggest disappointment was losing her morning talks with James. He still checked in every day, but the visits were short and they were back to that awkward how-much-do-I-say phase. He _had_ to check in on her, let Anderson know all was well. But he couldn’t spend his days sitting in her kitchen, feeding her pizza.

Soon, she was back up to her full stretch and strengthening routine each morning, but she still needed a two-hour nap every afternoon. The nap had been a luxury before. Since the poisoning, it had become a necessity.

Another week dragged by and she would have gone bat-shit crazy if she didn’t have EDI to keep her company. James hadn’t tattled on them.

Jane was sitting on the rock-hard couch, trying to read a poorly written true crime novel on her omni-tool when the invasion hit.

“Commander,” EDI said. “All sectors are on alert.”

“Damn it.” She jumped up. “Where’s James?”

“En route.”

Jane pulled on her N7 hoodie, zipped it, and waited by the door. She had it open as soon as he swiped his security card.

“What’s up?”

“Security Council needs you, Shepard.” He turned to the guards. “You two report to the fifth fleet liaison.”

“Sir!” They strode off in the opposite direction. The hall was bustling with everyone on site, on- and off-duty personnel in every state of dress rushing to their report point.

Jane hurried to match James’ long stride. “What do we know?”

“Nothing. Just that they need you.”

“You coming?” she asked.

The determined set of his jaw was sexy as fuck. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“Good.”

They reached Anderson’s office just as he was stepping out. “Shepard. Let’s go.”

“What’s going on, Admiral?” she asked.

“Hackett’s mobilized all fleets. Long-range scanners have picked up something big headed our way. Scans aren’t definitive, but Byrd’s team thinks it moves like Sovereign did.”

“Just the one?” She trotted up the stairs beside him.

“Unknown.”

Jane had had it up to here with bureaucratic bullshit. “I’ve spent the last six months with ‘unknown,’ David, give me—”

They’d reached the metal detectors into the Security Council chambers. A glass wall separated the incoming and outgoing lines. Alenko was on his way out. He glared at her on his way by.

Rage bubbled up inside her. She had been locked up, ignored. While he got to tell everyone how she’d turned traitor. “You let them take _his_ testimony first?”

“Shepard, we’re shooting from the hip on this one. Let it go.”

She glared, but relented. “Yes, sir.”

When James followed her through security, the metal detector beeped, but the armed guard waved him through.

The room was packed beyond capacity, with what looked like every intel ops rep on base. Half the jumbo screens on the walls were dark. The others put off enough static that they had to be muted.

Armed guards lined the walls. The security council sat at the long table in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. Blue skies. Fluffy white clouds. Bright sun that glared through despite the window’s UV overlay. Perfect day for an invasion.

In the center sat the Reaper defense subcommittee chair. What was his name again? Marshall. The guy who had delayed her hearing.

To his left sat Byrd, and by her stood Shaniqua, her fingers flying across an omni-tool interface amazingly fast—she was as quick as Tali. The static-filled screens flickered and jumped to life, showing the grounds cameras for a handful of North American and UK bases. Analysts on the floor cheered and one gave her the thumbs up.

“Signal boost the fix to every Alliance and civilian omni-tool you can find,” Johnson ordered. “Broadcast on all emergency channels.”

The intel staff jumped back to their stations and Johnson returned her attention to Byrd. “Admiral, it won’t last. Reaper processing power is too fast. We won’t keep up.”

“We haven’t determined it’s the Reapers,” Marshall said, but the communications specialist ignored him and finished her report.

“I can only troubleshoot feeds that exist. The others have been completely cut, including Luna Base and all colonies beyond the Sol relay.”

“The moon? Already?” Anderson asked. They’d reached the center of the room and people were turning their heads to gawk. “Any word from Admiral Hackett?”

Shaniqua shook her head. “No, sir. Comms are jammed. I’ve re-established some ground lines.”

Marshall jumped up. “Admiral Anderson. Shepard.”

The worried look on his face would have been comical, had he not held Jane’s past, present, and future in his hands. He knew almost nothing about her and she knew almost nothing about him, and she’d never know if that inaction on her part—playing by the book instead of letting EDI break her out—had saved or doomed uncountable lives.

At least Anderson had made some preparations with the intelligence she’d brought back.

“What’s the situation?” She almost added _dick_ to the end of her question, but caught and buried that anger deep. The fate of Earth was on trial more than she was and she needed the support of every person in the room.

“We were hoping you could tell us,” Marshall said, as an aide on the floor handed Jane a data pad.

She gave the screen a cursory glance. She understood the stats about a massive power source and high-speed space flight of a giant UFO, but the rest of it was foreign to her.

Jane handed the worthless data back to the aide. “You already have Lieutenant Commander Johnson’s assessment: The Reapers, are here. She’s right, and you don’t need me to tell you that.”

Marshall fell back into his seat, his head bowed in defeat.

“What do we do?” Byrd asked.

Jane didn’t sugar coat her answer. Leadership needed a kick in the ass to get in gear.

“We _fight_ or we _die_. Full mobilization. Every organic is an ally. Evac all major cities. We’re all going to end up nutrient paste for giant robots if we sit in this room much longer.”

Marshall threw his hands up in the air. “That’s it? That’s our plan? Work together?!”

“Admiral Anderson,” Byrd said, “Initiate full deployment of all ground troops.”

“Yes, ma’am. Pursuant regulation nine-thirty-point-five, I reinstate Commander Shepard and authorize her to take command of Normandy SR-2.” He pulled something out of his dress coat pocket and handed it to Jane.

Marshall sputtered something about due process, but Jane wasn’t listening. The clink of cold metal in her hand was familiar, even though she technically hadn’t worn one in more than two and a half years.

She snorted out a laugh. “You’ve been carrying my new dog tags around in your pocket.”

And given her back the Normandy. She stood taller, offered her official response. “I relieve you, sir.”

“I stand relieved.” Anderson shook her hand.

“About damn time,” James said behind her, so low she doubted anyone other than she and Anderson could hear.

“Sir!” A comms specialist on the floor pointed up at the UK HQ feed, where a sky full of Reapers plunged down into London.

A high-pitched shriek pierced the inside of Jane’s head—the Reaper signal she’d heard on Virmire.

The building shook.

“Down! Down! Down!” Jane shouted, pivoting around and pulling James down to the floor, shielding his head and neck with her body. She covered the back of her neck with her hand, just as the giant glass window exploded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 13](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726/chapters/44835316): Leaving Earth


	13. Leaving Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content includes canon-typical combat, brief body horror (Reaper ground troops), and mention of civilian casualties.

Vancouver burned. London burned. Countless other cities on Earth suffered alongside them, but cut off from each other—

Another explosion rocked Alliance HQ. The residual heat of the Reaper’s laser canon rushed over Jane’s back, nearly rolling her over. The arm that she had wrapped around Vega was the only thing that kept her from being tossed across the room like a doll.

“ _Shepard!_ ” Anderson’s call was dull in her ears. The screech of the Reaper was in her head—thanks, fucking Prothean beacon—and her ears rang from the explosion.

“Here!” she shouted, rolling to her feet and giving James a hand up.

She searched his face for a moment, looking for signs of injury. His eyes blazed with purpose and he gave her a small nod to indicate he was good to go.

He looked down at her hand and scowled. A gash stretched across the back of it, where she’d shielded her neck. A smattering of little gouges ran alongside it, oozing red blood and black soot. She plucked out a glass splinter and dropped it to the floor.

She couldn’t really feel it yet. The rest of her was buzzing for action.

James reached for a medi-gel pack on his belt and she shook her head, stepping away. Best to save their emergency gear for something larger than her first cut. Even the big cut was starting to clot already.

Wouldn’t the Illusive Man hate to see her now: She’d survived his poison _and_ his Lazarus Project had sped up her minor wound recovery.

Admiral Byrd ran along the far side of the room, half-bent over, with Johnson just behind her, one hand on the admiral's back and the other holding her drawn sidearm. One of the guards ushered Marshall along in a similar stance, looking for cover.

A security lead yelled the code to evac the brass. Some followed Byrd and Marshall. Other guards canvassed the room, looking for survivors.

The smoke made it dark as night. Red emergency lighting flickered in various corners. Jane couldn’t see what had happened to the rest of the people at the table, but there were a lot of motionless bodies on the floor, in various uniforms and armors.

 “Greyson!” Jonson shouted. “To Anderson!”

“Aye, aye!” The other woman ran after Anderson, who was already on his way out.

“This way, Shepard!” Anderson led them to a broken door, pried the two sides of it open for her and James to slip through. Vega held it open for him and Greyson on the other side.

They crawled between broken steel beams and rough concrete.

The foyer floor was gone, leaving a thin ledge of struts along the walls that remained. Back to the wall, Anderson shimmied along the strut, coughing in the smoke. Jane followed. The other end was darkness. They felt along with feet and hands.

Another tremor shook the building, and Anderson lurched forward, grabbing for a piece of rebar that protruded overhead.

The metal gave way and he fell forward, over the abyss.

Jane grabbed his coat, yanked him back, teetering herself, until James grabbed her arm and Greyson latched onto him.

Anderson rested his head back against the scorched and filthy wall, panting. Jane kept hold of his jacket until he straightened.

“Thanks,” he said, giving the thumbs up. “Good to go.”

“Good to go,” the other three echoed.

Jane released her grip and they shuffled on for several more minutes, until they reached a solid floor. It was guest lounge with three of its walls intact, and the window blasted open. A fresh wind poured in, stinging her sooty eyes and clearing the way for daylight.

It was a bright, sunny day outside.

One couch had been smashed against the wall. The other had burnt to the floor and was smoldering. Next to it lay a dead guard and an empty, busted-open med kit. Smeared foot prints of various sizes disturbed the greasy soot on the floor, heading toward the broken window.

Jane glanced over the edge: The prints continued along the terrace under the window. Someone had made it out before them.

Anderson gestured toward the dead guard and rest of the room. “Shepard, Vega, check for gear. Greyson, what have you got?”

The comms specialist was already hard at work on her omni-tool. “Sending you updates.” All their omni-tools flashed and they authorized the downloads. “Working on a Normandy connection.”

“Get me Major Alenko, if that’s easier,” Anderson said. “He’s aboard.”

Jane bit her tongue. So, Kaidan was another of Anderson’s projects. Good to know, instead of getting blindsided by finding him on her ship. Given the circumstances, she wasn’t going to kick him off.

“Yes, sir,” Greyson said. “I can also get you a direct line to Byrd’s team.”

James pried a closet door open to find and distribute spare med kits among their party.

Jane secured the dead guard’s weapons—an M7 and a Predator pistol—and extra thermal clips. It felt damn good to have a rifle in hand after six months of practical helplessness. And now they all had a sidearm, too.

“Brace for evasive maneuvers!” Alenko’s voice crackled across their omni-tools, and then the connection was lost.

“Commander,” EDI broke through. “Multiple hostiles engaged. Husks and cannibals confirmed. Civilian evacuations underway. Rendezvous coordinates updated.”

“Can you get Admiral Anderson the ground commander’s location?”

“Yes. The ground floor of the Academy is functioning as the FOB. Nav point sent.”

“I know where it is,” Anderson said.

“Admiral,” EDI said, “the city looks different than it did ten minutes ago. I recommend the route I sent to your omni-tool.”

“Noted.”

Greyson frowned. “Is that an—”

Anderson waved her off. “Mind your station, Specialist. Find me a connection to the FOB.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jane hid a smile and handed James another thermal clip. Yes, that _was_ an A.I. Good ear, Specialist Greyson.

Unfortunately, not even EDI could defeat this enemy.

Outside, Jane’s nightmare had come true.

Below the broken window, husks and cannibals swarmed the docks. Fire rose from downed shuttles. Where buildings should have been, Reapers towered instead. More dropped from the sky, locusts the size of starships.

Two lumbered down the space between the academy and HQ.

 _Bawaamm!_ They omitted a sonic pulse that shook the building and hurt Jane’s ears.

Just below them, Alliance troops frantically loaded civilians into shuttles. Some were injured, passed up into the shuttles on field stretchers or hobbling over and dragging themselves in. A woman in civvies handed a child up to an armored soldier while two teens crawled in and offered others a hand up.

“ _Dios_ ,” James said, his expression shifting from anger to horror.

The two Reapers opened their face plates, charging their primary lasers.

The captain on the ground saw it, too. He shoved the nearest shuttle door closed and pounded on it with his fist to take off, remaining on the ground with his troops, and waving the other civilians off to take cover.

His squad kept firing, but their M8’s didn’t harm the Reapers. Or even distract them.

The evac shuttles had barely cleared the rooftops when the Reapers exploded them with a single shot.

-

James was helpless to stop the blast. Debris fell from the sky. No way anyone survived that.

Ground troops scurried away from the docks, felling every husk and cannibal they could along the way. No point in wasting ammunition on the Reapers towering above.

“Admiral,” Greyson said. “I found a ground line, but the academy’s not responding.”

James handed Anderson clips of concussive rounds and loaded his own sidearm with carnage.

“Shepard,” the admiral said, “I’ve got to get down there. Go to the Citadel. Apply whatever Spectre influence you can and get us every fleet you can—make them listen.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lieutenant, I’m assigning you to the Normandy. The armory is yours.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Let’s go, Greyson.”

Anderson and the comms specialist jumped down to the lower balcony and ran off through the smoke.

“Good to go, Vega?”

“Right behind you.”

Where Anderson had gone left, they went right, further down the wharf.

They shot their way through cannibals, whose bulbous bodies were nearly unrecognizable. All their extra eyes were a reminder of the batarians they once had been.

The fires spread. The sunny skies were covered in black smoke that burned his eyes. They were surrounded by the stench of burning oil, steaming thermal clips, and charred bodies.

They took cover behind a downed shuttle, the starboard side still a solid shield between them and the cannibals’ blasters.

Jane’s incendiary rounds were as effective as his carnage rounds. She was just as accurate as he was, despite her time away from the range. Panicked enemies spread fire among their swarming ranks.

“The cavalry has arrived!” Joker’s voice sprung across their omni-tools, just as a bomb hit the docks, shaking their cover.

The Normandy swooped down and hovered, the cargo bay door open. Cortez and Alenko were there, secured by lifelines as they shot down the enemies swarming their position.

“Let’s go!” Jane sprinted down the dock and leapt into the cargo bay.

James was right behind her, trusting the men above to cover them.

When his feet hit the deck, her hand was instantly on his back to steady him.

“You okay?” she asked, low and personal.

He nodded.

Alenko frowned at them, but Steve pretended he hadn’t heard. Cortez always looked down at an angle when he was trying to give you privacy—he was cool like that.

“Welcome aboard, Shepard,” EDI said on the overhead. “Stand clear of bay doors.” The ramp slowly rose, cutting off the view of the bloodbath outside. “Commander, I have a priority message from Admiral Hackett.”

Jane opened the nearest comm console. James followed along, putting himself between Jane and Alenko. After six months planetside, his skin hummed with the ship; he’d get used to it again quick. That, and the recycled air smell.

“Major,” Steve said, “I need a hand loading ammunition onto the shuttle.”

Hackett’s transmission was spotty. The crackling static filled the shuttle bay. “Commander Shepard, what’s your status?”

“Admiral Anderson ordered me to the Citadel to get help for the fight.”

“Belay that. Pick up Dr. T’Soni on Mars first. She has a lead on a way to stop the Reapers. Maybe the only way to stop them.”

“Yes, sir.” Jane saluted.

“Fifth Fleet out.” Hackett signed off.

“EDI, have Joker set a course for Mars. All due haste.”

“Yes, Commander.”

Alenko poked his head out of the shuttle. “What’s Liara doing on Mars?”

“I don’t know,” Jane said. “Gear up. You too, Cortez.”

“You know each other?” Alenko asked pointedly and James stiffened. Jesus Christ, was this guy going to question everything their superiors said?

But Steve was as smooth as always, offering their new CO a salute and handshake. “Lieutenant Steve Cortez, shuttle pilot and requisitions. It’s an honor to finally meet you, Commander.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Mr. Vega speaks highly of you. Glad to have you on the team. What’s the situation?”

“Pre-flight check is complete for the shuttle, so we can get boots on the ground on Mars as soon as we arrive. Normandy is well stocked, but has a skeleton crew—no medical officer. More were to come aboard with Admiral Anderson.

“Major Alenko was to accompany us to Grissom Academy. He has offered to assist. Sir, I recommend we charter another transport for you when we reach the Citadel.”

Damn, Esteban was smooth. He’d thought of everything.

“That’s fine, Lieutenant,” Alenko said. “The students have other officers looking out for them. They can wait one more day for me.”

Resigned to squeezing into a spare XL armor set from the standard issue lockers for visitors, James headed for the lockers he’d helped install. They now had names painted on them: _Anderson, Shepard, Cortez, Moreau_ —and _Vega_.

James grinned. He hadn’t accepted the job until today, but Steve had already set him up, probably with Anderson and Johnson’s help: James’ backup armor was in there, the one with the knight and steed decal on the shoulder. There was even a workout station next to the armory, with all the weights and other gear securely stowed for safety.

He geared up quick, admiring the shiny black N7 armor Jane put on. She wore her helmet like a queen and carried her Phaeston like a badass.

Steve wore his Alliance regs, like a true fighter jock, and Alenko wore Biotics Division blue.

“Shuttle bay, conn,” Moreau said on the overheads. “Mars ETA three minutes. The station isn’t responding to our hails. Be ready for trouble.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 14](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726/chapters/45214408): Priority: Mars


	14. Priority: Mars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the amazing [RedEris](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RedEris/works) for beta reading this chapter.
> 
> Content includes canon-typical combat.

Steve dropped them at the furthest landing pad and stayed to guard the shuttle and boost comms with the Normandy.

“Commander, we’ve a sandstorm incoming,” he said. “Expect to lose radio contact within the hour.”

Helmets and armor seals secure, they hopped down into the red dust of Mars and cautiously made their way toward the Prothean Archives, alert for any sign of life or trap.

Around the first bend, Jane held her fist up to make them pause. At the next landing platform, there were three bodies on the ground, all in Alliance armor. “Vega, take point. Alenko, what have we got?”

James trotted a few yards forward and took cover behind a boulder. There didn’t appear to be anyone ahead of them, but about a hundred yards ahead, there was another bend in the path. The red mountains on either side hid the rest of their route to the archives.

“Sergeant Reaves, Private Smith, and Private Jones.” Kaidan kept his voice low, even though their helmet-to-helmet transmitters were set for no external audio. “Execution style. God damn it.”

“Any sign of life, Vega?” Shepard asked.

“Negative. Limited visibility. Can’t see the facility from—”

 _Bang! Bang!_ Two gunshots rang out from below.

Jane ran past James. “Find cover behind me!”

Around the next bend, there was an Alliance soldier on his knees, surrounded by squad of men in white and yellow armor.

“Frag out!” Jane shouted through her external speaker, drawing the enemies’ attention as she lobbed a frag grenade at a rock wall far to their left. It was close enough to be a distraction without endangering the prisoner.

The explosion of rock had them yelling and scattering.

The Alliance soldier rolled away, scrambling under an armored truck that boasted the Cerberus logo. There were at least three tanks that James could see through the swirling sands. The wind was getting worse fast.

Bold, using their own vehicles. It also meant they had someone on the inside to hide their approach. James hoped it wasn’t Jane’s asari friend. The last time he’d encountered a Cerberus agent, they’d betrayed him to the Collectors on Fehl Prime.

Jane opened fire. Cerberus returned the favor.

They mostly hit rock, but one grazed James’ shields, making them sizzle for a second before fully charging.

Alenko hit one with reeve, making the guy jolt up from behind cover for James to hit him with a carnage round. The mess spread downwind.

When Cerberus stopped returning fire, they progressed from boulder to boulder, truck to truck, staying in cover until they were sure each vehicle was empty and all the ground troops were down.

A distant shuttle noise came through the choppy wind, but didn’t seem to be approaching their position.

When they reached the far side, they found the last Alliance soldier dead. He’d been dragged halfway out and shot through the face mask.

“Damn it!” Jane slammed her hand against the side of the truck.

“Shepard, _what’s_ Cerberus doing here?” Alenko demanded.

“I _don’t know_ , Alenko. The Illusive Man is more than a little pissy about me blowing up the Collectors instead of handing their tech over. He’s more than a little pissy that I survived his assassination attempt—”

“What a—”

“I was never with Cerberus. I _stole_ the Normandy from them. Focus on the mission or get back on the shuttle if you can’t follow orders.”

“Fine.” He answered sullenly.

James wanted to knock some sense into him. What the fuck was wrong with this guy? Combat was when you stuck to regs no matter what. He could have a goddamned tantrum after the mission.

They entered the archive airlock and rode the elevator up in stony silence—until they heard more gunfire. The tat-tat of single shots—probably from Mattocks—had them hunkering down. The elevator doors were overhead, so they had no walls to hide behind once the doors opened and the elevator came flush with the floor.

They sprinted for cover behind a mako and a stack of crates.

The sporadic gunfire was above, muffled—then echoed through the steel vents.

A woman grunted with effort and a steel grate came crashing down from above. A blue asari propelled herself through with a biotic blast, turning in mid-air to slap her pursuers with a singularity.

Two Cerberus soldiers grabbed for support, but were swept up in the swirling field.

The asari lowered herself to her feet and pulled a pistol from her belt, shooting down her enemies. They flopped to the floor and she calmly walked over to them and shot each with a double tap to the head, cold and professional.

“Nice shot, T’Soni,” Jane said from behind cover. “Are we clear?”

“Shepard?” Her voice was breathy, but not from exertion.

“Yeah.” Jane came out of cover, pointing her rifle toward the ceiling. “Still kicking.”

“Thank the goddess you’re all right. And Kaidan! Glad you made it.”

“Hi, Liara,” Alenko said, the nicest James had heard him say anything.

They took off their helmets and Jane gestured for James to step forward. “Liara T’Soni, this is James Vega. He’s a friend.”

“I welcome all the help we can get,” Liara said. “Cerberus has the main archives locked down, but the four of us together can get through.”

“We can extract you the way we came in,” Jane said.

“No.” Liara shook her head. “In the archives there are files from the Protheans’ last stand against the Reapers. They were building a superweapon, but didn’t have time to finish it. With those plans, we could end the war before we’re all wiped out.”

Jane grinned. “Secret weapon plans? No wonder I feel like a princess with cinnamon rolls over my ears.”

“What?” T’Soni asked, perplexed.

“Heh,” James laughed. He’d love to see Jane running down the hall in a floor length gown with no bra and a giant blaster in her hand. Considering their company at the moment, it would probably be best not to voice that desire.

“Human movie,” Jane said. “I’ll show you when we get back to the Normandy. What’s the quickest way to the intel you need?”

That’s right: The intel. They had to follow an asari to secure data. Fight their way through Cerberus to do it while Reaper troops harvested Earth. It wasn’t exactly Fehl Prime, but it was close enough to make James sweat.

He never sweat—not unless he was lifting.

Jane would get them through this. She knew what she was doing. She wouldn’t let—

He turned that part of his brain off.

“There’s a pedway and a tram into the main facility.” T’Soni led them over to a maintenance lift and up to an upper balcony. “We can bypass the lockdown from the nearest station and ride over. Patch me into your comms.”

From a safety station, she grabbed a helmet and gloves that matched her white and blue science uniform. They all geared up and Alenko patched her in, ran them through a comms check.

“Sounds good,” Jane said, nodding for the asari and Alenko to go first. “You take point, Liara.”

A click in James’ ear let him know Jane wanted to open a second private channel with him.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“You okay?” she asked. “You looked like you’d seen a specter—and I don’t mean the sexy redhead kind.”

“Memorias malas. We lost our— _I_ lost all but one of my squad on Fehl Prime.”

The whole fucking thing had landed on his shoulders and he’d botched it. They’d lost a lot more than Captain Tony that day.

“To a Cerberus plant working with the Collectors,” he said. “But you’re a better leader than I am.”

“Bullshit. If they promoted you, something must have gone right. And if you were the only person to get out of there, I’d still be glad. Fuck anyone who says otherwise.

“You’re a good man _and_ a good soldier, James. If you want to tell me about it later, I’d love to hear the real story, instead of the official reports.”

He hadn’t known she’d read those, but considering her involvement in Anderson’s plans, and her being smack dab in the middle of all that Cerberus shit, it shouldn’t have surprised him. She was a _Spectre_. The finest Spectre he’d ever seen on a vid.

“Heading back to group chat,” Jane said, and a double-double beep let him know they were all on the same channel again. “Yeah, Liara, that’s a good idea; find us a security console.”

“Already done.” T’Soni had found a comm station. A dead Alliance soldier sat propped up on the floor, an overheated pistol at his side. “I can unlock the pedway—goddess!” She pointed to a security terminal, where a dark-haired woman in a white science uniform shot two guards in the back.

And then opened the outside maintenance airlock into the mess hall.

Emergency sirens blared, but it was too late.

“ _Dios_.” James watched, helpless, as an entire room of civilians succumbed to the exposure of a Mars sandstorm let inside.

“Why?” Liara cried. “That’s Dr. Coré. Why would she? I—I should have known the new consult was Cerberus!”

“Not your fault,” Kaidan said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “You were focused on your own work. Saving people.”

“Yes.” Liara nodded. “I suppose you’re right. Let’s get over there. See if there’s anyone left to save.”

Helmets secure, they made their way from the communications station, across the pedway and through the mess hall, now littered with bodies, broken glass, and dropped food trays. They climbed through a broken interior window to another walkway that led to the tram station.

It was eerily empty beyond.

They got on the open-air tram that ran from the administrative offices to the archive.

Wind whipped sand through the tram’s windows. The building ahead was a vague red and brown shadow.

Just as they reached cruising speed, the tram lurched to a halt, and James rolled on his shoulder to land on his back, shielding his helmet’s faceplate as he hit the deck.

Liara and Alenko picked themselves up, glowing blue.

Jane also rolled and sprung up on her toes, squatting behind the guardrail, covering them from frontal attack. “I.E.D. took out the rail.”

“Incoming!” Kaidan shouted. The next track over, a tram full of Cerberus troops hurtled toward them.

Liara flung a singularity into the oncoming enemies, catching them up to bounce against the tram ceiling. She detonated it with warp.

Troops flew out the windows and blasted into the walls. The impact activated the emergency brake, bringing the tram to a jarring halt parallel with theirs.

James’ heart caught in his throat as Jane leapt across the gap into the other car and shot down the last two enemies who struggled to get to their feet. She rolled them out the door to plummet down the mountain.

“Let’s go,” she said.

James was careful not to look down as they jumped across and took the intact tram to the archives.

A unit of Cerberus troops met them at the station, guns blazing. Alenko overloaded shields, Liara smashed them with singularities, and James and Jane alternated carnage shots to keep away anyone who got too close. It was all over in a matter of minutes.

They proceeded cautiously down a labyrinth of empty corridors with tall, curvy Prothean architecture lit with green lights. Like algae in a dank boathouse.

It made James’ skin crawl. He needed sun. Clean air. This place was a tomb, as windowless as a geth ship.

They entered a big, round room with a ceiling as tall as the facility. Around the perimeter ran a circular walkway dotted with workstations and darkrooms the size of closets.

In the center, a skylight illuminated an oblong pillar of green metal shaped kind of like Idaho or a cigarette lighter. Sinuous ropes of tech ran up it in intricate patterns.

“Another fucking beacon,” Jane grumbled. “Liara, how do we keep this one from blowing up in my face?”

Liara pointed toward the center of the room to a workstation and hologram pad built into the floor. “There’s a console. I’ve used it before.”

“What about this one?” Jane gestured toward the nearest workstation and Liara shook her head.

“The beacon’s not on the network. Direct interface is required.”

“Direct interface damn near got my head blown off,” Jane groused, “and I’ve still got those screaming red visions from the last time.”

“This is different, Jane. I promise.”

Jane gestured for a perimeter check. “Alenko, Vega, make sure we’re not interrupted. All right, Dr. T’Soni, let’s get this over with. Earth is under siege and we need to get to the citadel ASAP.”

Alenko went left. James went right.

Each station he passed was dark. He switched on his rifle’s spotlight, checking under desks and in closets as he went along. Cerberus might have left more I.E.D.’s to cover their tracks.

While he patrolled the perimeter, the helmet comms let him hear everyone else as clearly as if they stood next to him. The console let off audible beeps that echoed off the steel walls as T’Soni entered all her security information.

“You have an OSD big enough to download all those files?” Jane asked.

“Of course. I’m a very good information broker.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shepard.”

James spun to center at the new voice. A man fizzled into view on the holopad by the beacon’s workstation. He wore a trim black suit and smoked a cigarette—the old-fashioned kind that you actually lit and burned away to ash. You had to get rich as fuck for one of those, while the electronic sticks were just a few credits for a whole carton of nicotine refills.

“Illusive man,” Liara said. “How terrible of you to join us.”

“What do you want?” Jane demanded.

“Fascinating race, the Protheans. They left all this for us to discover, but we’ve squandered it. The Alliance has known about the Archives for more than thirty years, and what have they done with it? Nothing. The data in these artifacts holds the key to my solution for the Reaper threat.”

“What solution?” Jane asked.

“To dominate the Reapers, harness their power. Imagine how strong humanity would be if we controlled them.”

“Humanity? Or you?”

“Cerberus is humanity.”

“Bullshit. You’re bullshit. Your plan is bullshit. Dead Reapers are the only way we win this.”

“Your vision is pathetically limited.” He took a drag from his cigarette. “You were a tool, an agent with a singular purpose. And despite our differences, you were relatively successful. But like the rest of the relics in this place, your time is over.”

The threat had James shaking with anger. Just a few weeks ago, the son of a bitch had nearly killed her, and he wasn’t going to stop until he’d made her disappear.

The Illusive Man pointed at Jane, his crumbling cigarette between two fingers. His eyes reflected blue light; circuit lines of cybernetic implants were actually visible on his eyeballs. “Don’t interfere with my plans, Shepard. I won’t warn you again.”

“Go to hell.” Jane turned her back on him.

“Goodbye, Shepard.” The holo faded away.

“The files!” Liara exclaimed. “Someone’s deleting them. That shouldn’t be possible! And I don’t have Glyph with me.”

“Hey!” Kaidan shouted from the other side of the room—and went flying backward into the wall with a _clang!_ He slumped to the floor, biotics and electricity sparking across his armor for a moment and going dark.

The woman from the security vid sprinted for the door.

James shot a carnage round, just as Jane did. Liara’s warp got there first.

Those shots should have obliterated her. Instead, she hit the floor, sizzling with an electric current.

“What the—?” James rushed forward.

It was a bot.

The synthetic’s outer shell was shaped like a human woman. The science uniform it wore had burned away, as had the paint on its face. A dead A.I. stared back up at him, silver skin as inhuman as the archive’s winding hallways.

Jane joined him. “That explains a lot. Like why she’s not wearing a helmet. Let’s hope all the data they stole wasn’t fried when we killed her.”

“Kaidan!” Liara dropped to her knees at his side, pulling up a medical scanner on her omni-tool. “Cardiovascular and respiratory activity. Thank the goddess. Can’t tell for sure about his spine and skull.”

“We have to move him, Liara,” Jane said. “We’ll get him to medical on the Citadel.”

“I can carry him,” James said. He didn’t know what had gone down between Jane and Alenko, but Anderson had banned the major from seeing her back on Earth and James didn’t want her to have to literally have him on her back.

A double beep indicated someone was joining their comms. “Commander,” Steve’s voice crackled through, “We’ve got Reapers in orbit. I’m on the landing pad on top of the archives.”

“We’re right below you, Lieutenant. Stand by for extraction.”

“Aye, aye. Normandy en route.”

James hefted the unconscious man into a fireman’s carry, Jane did the same with the broken robot, and Liara led them up the elevator to the roof.

They boarded the shuttle, and within a minute they were airborne and up into the Normandy’s shuttle bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the things I miss moving from ME2 to ME3 is how effective Reeve combined with a Locust was: You could make almost anyone pop out from behind cover and quickly finish them off.
> 
> Memorias malas (Spanish): Bad memories.
> 
> [Chapter 15](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726/chapters/45304444): Where We Stand


	15. Where We Stand

When the elevator doors whooshed open on the CIC, Jane made a beeline for the cockpit, striding past the galaxy map, where the comms specialist and two guards broke away from their conversation to salute her as she rushed past.

“As you were.”

She was practically running when the cockpit doors parted in front of her.

“Jane.” Jeff was already up out of his seat and limping over. He grabbed her up in a big bear hug, crushing her ribs.

“Ow. Careful, Jeff, don’t hurt yourself.”

“Shut up. You’re more worried I’d hurt you.”

“Yeah.” She leaned back to look at him, resting her hands on his sculpted biceps. Most people didn’t look past the limp, but he did more than carry his crutches around and sit in his pilot’s chair.

And he could handle both a rifle and a sidearm—a fact that had saved her ass yet again six months ago when she was dangling from the Normandy while Miranda pulled her up by her collar. Every shot he’d made at a Collector had been a kill shot.

Joker’s SR-2 baseball cap was well worn in by now. The glimmer of humor was still there in his eyes, despite the tense lines of his face.

“Earth and Mars. That’s two more I owe you, Joker.”

He stepped back and dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “Bah. Friends don’t keep count. Wouldn’t mind a gold medal though, as long as I don’t have to make a speech for it.”

She grinned. “Deal.”

He limped back to his seat, levered himself in as graceful as a gymnast. His broad back and shoulders spanned the chair. “Be my co-pilot. Have a seat.”

Jane sat to his right. “I thought EDI was your co-pilot.”

“I do not mind sharing the task,” EDI said on the overhead. “Do you want manual control again, Jeff?”

“Nah. Steady course to the Citadel, EDI. Haven’t seen each other in six months. Sooo . . . James.”

“Yeah?” Jane smirked. Should have known Joker couldn’t go two minutes without asking. “What did EDI tell you?”

“Nothing.” He frowned and poked a finger at her. “Not a damn thing. Which got me thinking. And James didn’t talk about you at dinner, but he had _that look_.”

“What look?” Her smile grew.

“Come on, don’t be coy. The one any sane person gets when they realize Jane Shepard is hot.”

“Oh?”

“Ah, why do I even—you kiss him yet?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?” He looked mortally offended.

“If you think he’s so kissable, why don’t you kiss him?”

“I don’t speak enough Spanish.”

She laughed. “Joker, you speak more than I do.”

“I believe that is code for Lieutenant Vega’s preference in gender partners,” EDI offered.

“Oh.” Jane hadn’t thought of that. She’d noticed him checking out her ass, and liked it when he’d draped his arm over the back of her chair, but they hadn’t progressed to the what’s-your-pleasure conversation yet.

“Man’s as straight-laced as a school principal.” Jeff shook his head. “Besides, I know better than to steal a friend’s man.”

“He’s not my man.”

“Oh, he’s sunk on you, Jane. And this is the first time I’ve ever heard you beat around the bush.”

“I don’t want to fuck it up. Assume things.” There wasn’t anything casual about James or how she felt about him. They could be casual together, but the feelings involved— _her_ feelings—were _intense_. She couldn’t get deeper with him until she was sure she could handle it.

To date, even her long-term relationships had been more playful and open-ended than the _attachment_ she had for him. Usually, it was we’ll have fun until we drift in different directions—no hard feelings. Now . . . a life without James at her side wasn’t something she wanted to contemplate, so she _had_ to contemplate it. Mutual respect and attraction just weren't enough for the deep-dive into a lasting relationship.

“You’re a good communicator. Go, _communicate_ with him.” Jeff waggled his eyebrows and Jane laughed. Texts via EDI hadn’t been enough. She had missed him so much.

“I’ll see if he wants to meet up on the Citadel between meetings.”

-

They docked at bay D24, a level above the general docks and refugee screening office, and EMT’s met them there with a stretcher to whisk Alenko away into a transport for Huerta Memorial.

It was as busy and clean as James remembered.

No war here. Just billboards with gardening advice—the kind of garden that fit in a two-foot box and required UV lights—and Blasto advertisements. Asari, turian, and even krogan visitors bustled from place to place or watched ships come and go from the flight deck. Human and turian C-sec officers guarded the checkpoints in and out of each sector. They looked bored.

A green Keeper plodded down the walkway on its spindly legs. Looked like a two-hundred-pound frog that had a baby with a tarantula. James shuddered. He preferred it when they stayed below decks.

A C-Sec officer approached from the skycar taxi terminal. An armed guard accompanied him.

“Commander Shepard, got word you were arriving.”

“Captain Bailey.” Jane grinned and shook his hand. “Good to see you again.”

“Thanks, too you, but it’s ‘ _Commander_ ’ now.” He grimaced and made air quotes with his fingers when he said _commander_.

“Conn-gratulations?” Jane asked.

“Yeah, actually. It’s a promotion to the Council Embassies. Had to take down the former Executor when he resisted arrest. Udina promoted me for it.”

“That explains the sour face. Wouldn’t want to answer to that bastard either. Watch it, Bailey: Udina’s stabbed me in the back more than once. Anderson was a better Councilor.”

“Too true,” Bailey said. “But it’s better pay than when I was Chief of the Wards, and you don’t tell Udina no—maybe you can, but I can’t. I’ve got to live here.

“Anyway, Shepard, I’m here to officially greet you on behalf of the Council—now that I’m their glorified doorman. They apologize for the wait, but they’ve got their own problems with the war and everything, blah, blah, bullshit, blah.” He waved his hand dismissively.

“They’ve cleared a ten-minute slot for you during this afternoon’s public hearings for a private audience. Sending an invite to your omni-tool. You may want to be a half-hour early to the presidium, in case they mess with the schedule. Wouldn’t put it past Valern to make you miss your time. He’s adamant about not sending any Council fleets to Earth.”

Fuck. James had known they didn’t like humans much, even though Shepard and Moreau and Anderson had saved their asses during Sovereign’s attack on the Citadel—and they’d lost eight cruisers full of Alliance personnel to do it—but information on a full Reaper invasion and superweapon deserved a little more than a ten-minute audience.

Shepard and others had been warning them of the threat since the attack on Eden Prime, but they still sat around with their thumbs up their asses, pretending it had nothing to do with them. They were safe up on the Presidium. Which made no fucking sense, since there were still areas of the Citadel being rebuilt from the attack two years ago.

They’d had a Reaper on the Citadel before and still didn’t get it.

Pendejo politicians.

“Copy, Dispatch,” Bailey’s guard said. “Commander, we have a situation in embassy reception.”

“Tell them we’re en route.” Bailey offered Jane a parting handshake. “See you around, Shepard.”

“No doubt.”

“We should check on Kaidan,” Liara said, leading the way onto the elevator.

“Doubt they’ll have him ready for visitors,” Jane said, “but I want to check in with the consulting physician.”

“Excellent idea, Shepard. I’ll stop by the Commons gift shop for some flowers.” Liara pushed the buttons for the levels they needed.

“He’d prefer whiskey or Canadian lager,” Jane said.

Liara frowned. “It’s a hospital, Shepard.”

“All the more reason,” Jane said.

Liara shook her head and exited the elevator.

When the doors closed, Jane sighed and closed her eyes. Deep purple rings were developing just below them.

“Hey, you okay?” James asked, brushing her hand with his.

She opened her hand and he let her wrap her fingers around his. On Earth, he’d said, _I’m not letting you out of my sight_. He knew he was pushing his luck, sticking around with her after the mission. They were on her turf now, dealing with diplomats. Spectre business. But she hadn’t asked him to leave.

“Not the shortest day ever,” she said.

At the next floor, a pair of asari and a turian C-Sec officer stepped aboard.

Jane loosened her grip when they weren’t alone anymore, but he gave her hand a squeeze, letting her know it was okay if she still wanted his touch. She looked up and smiled at him, wrapping her other hand over their joined clasp for a moment, then keeping hold of him for the rest of the way to the hospital.

When they stepped off the elevator, she paused, looked around the busy foyer.

“Karin.” Jane dropped his hand and rushed to a medical officer in a white uniform. The older woman wore her gray hair in a fashionable bob.

James followed awkwardly behind, unsure how much space to give them. It helped that the room was full of bustling people and personal space was next to nothing.

Jane grabbed the doctor in a big hug, smiling through tears. “When I saw your name on the register, I was almost too scared to hope. Does Mom know you’re okay?”

“Of course,” the other woman said, very proper English in her accent. “The Normandy isn’t the only warship with quantum entanglement communicators. Admiral Hackett wants us happy.”

Jane gave a watery laugh and wiped at her eyes. “All he cares about is dead Reapers. You mean Hannah Shepard strong-armed him into giving her a-list equipment.”

“It is the same, is it not?”

“It is. I want you to meet someone.” Jane kept a hand on her arm and waved James over. “Dr. Karin Chakwas, Lieutenant James Vega. He got me out.”

“You got yourself out.” He shuffled uncomfortably on his feet. Was that why she was carting him around, holding his hand? She felt she owed him?

Jane grinned. “It was a group effort, including the cousin of a gym buddy friend of James, and Admiral Anderson. I got my fair share of shots in, too.”

“Lieutenant.” Dr. Chakwas’ handshake was firm and businesslike. Her cool appraisal felt an awful lot like a surprise inspection of the barracks.

“Ma’am.”

Chakwas gave Jane a look that he didn’t understand.

“You can talk freely in front of James,” Jane said.

“Kaidan is in surgery,” Chakwas said. “Dr. Michel is the supervising physician and will let us know the surgeon’s findings. Scans indicate cranial swelling and an overload biotic amp. You got him to us quickly and it’s fairly straightforward. We should know within forty-eight hours.”

“Thanks.” Jane nervously tucked her hair behind her ear and looked out the window overlooking the Presidium. “Can you get Liara in to see him?”

“Yes, I think that would be best,” the doctor said.

“Thanks, Karin. If we’re still here in the morning, I’ll buy you breakfast.” Jane kissed her cheek.

“Of course, dear.”

They got on the elevator with an asari and salarian physician who got off at the next floor. No one else got on.

Unlike the peaceful walk over, this silence wasn’t comfortable.

“You don’t owe me anything, you know,” he said.

She glared at him. “EDI, hack the elevator and put us on privacy mode.”

“Acknowledged.”

The elevator shuddered to a halt and Jane’s omni-tool blinked red.

“Out with it, Vega. If you think I’m playing the damsel in distress card, you can haul ass in the opposite direction. I don’t owe you anything. You don’t owe me anything. Except maybe a good time because we’re both interested.”

Her flashing green eyes were the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

“You’re not my security lead anymore,” she said more calmly. “If it bothers you that I’m your CO, we can be strictly professional. I don’t grudge or judge colleagues who do that. I don’t want to pressure you into something you’re not comfortable with.”

“Oh, I’m interested,” he said. “I just want to know where we stand.”

“In a hijacked elevator on the Presidium while the galaxy burns outside.”

“Heh,” he smiled. “You know, I didn’t notice. Too busy checking out my CO’s ass.”

She arched an eyebrow.

He opened his arms wide. “What do you say?”

“Yes.” And she jumped him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pendejo (Spanish): Stupid.
> 
> [Chapter 16](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726/chapters/45750013): Love in an Elevator


	16. Love in an Elevator

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the amazing [RedEris](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RedEris/works) for beta reading this chapter.

James was ready to catch her when she slammed into him.

Jane wrapped her powerful legs around his waist, an arm around his shoulders. She rested her other hand over his pounding heart, looked down into his eyes—his very soul—with a piercing emerald stare, waiting for him to show her what he wanted.

Was it the last move, or the first? Didn’t matter. They’d always been moving toward this moment and he wasn’t going to miss it.

He caught her lips, swallowed her heady groan of pleasure. It sounded like his name. _Dios_ , please let it be his name.

There was nothing gentle about their first kiss. She offered tongue, he accepted. They explored, demanded.

_La pasión._

She wrapped both arms around his neck. He gripped her ass tight.

More. He needed more.

James stumbled forward, put his hand up against the wall to keep her from hitting it. Not releasing his mouth, she put her feet on the floor, wrapped her leg around his.

She had _fire_.

He ran his hands into her hair, tilting for a better angle as her red halo covered him like a waterfall of silk.

Jane came up for air first, leaning her head back against the wall. He kissed his way along her jaw, down the side of her neck.

Damn, she smelled good. Like a starship and an ocean wrapped up in woman.

“Nggh! James,” she gasped. “You sure do have a talented mouth.”

“I can do even more with my tongue.”

She laughed, smoothed a hand over his back. “I’d love to see that.”

“I was thinking you’d _feel_ it, more than see it,” he said, low, rough, undressing her with his eyes. Head to toe, and then back up again.

She shuddered against him. “I’m _all_ about that.”

He kept his hands loose on her waist, giving her more room to step aside if she was ready to move on.

She sighed and rested her forehead to his chest. Sexual hunger turned to tenderness as he wrapped his arms around her, shielding against the outside world.

“What do you need?” he asked.

“A haircut. And about a million battle cruisers.” She looked up, smiled wanly. “Maybe if I go and get the haircut, I’ll look respectable enough that the Council will send us help for Earth.”

It wasn’t fair.

“That’s a terrible burden. Don’t take it all on yourself.”

“Oh, I plan to enlist your help, Mr. Vega.” She grinned and stepped back. “But first thing’s first: I’ve been missing the salon terribly.

“And I’ve got time to stop by the sex shop. Left Earth in a bit of a hurry and I need some supplies. Want to come? They’ve the best adult toys in the galaxy. Well, those made for humans at least.”

 _Adult toys?_ What kind of supplies? How far did she go? It was the perfect chance to ask her what she liked.

“Uh, that’s not really my scene.” He grimaced. _Pendejo._ What was he, ten?

“That’s cool.” Her friendliness didn’t dim at all. “We like what we like, James. Don’t ever do something you don’t want.”

“I want to see you again. Socially, I mean. I mean, obviously, I’ll see you on the ship.” He shrugged, feeling like a bull in an elevator.

“Dinner?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He grinned. “Yeah. Ping me when you’re ready.”

“Oh, I’m always ready, James.” She winked saucily and he just about choked on his own drool. Clearly, she had made an effort to be much more _reserved_ for the first six months he’d known her.

She sobered. “You were there, too. You come to the Council meeting, if you want. Your written report was enough, but you’ve already been cleared to attend, and you have the right to tell them to their face what’s going on. Don’t let Valern intimidate you.”

“The salarian?”

“Yeah, him. Would love to see you take him on in the ring. But that’s a fantasy best left for after the war.” Jane pushed the button for the Presidium Commons level.

Nothing happened.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Shepard,” she said to herself, and turned privacy mode off on her omni-tool. “EDI, let me outta here.”

“Confirmed,” EDI said, and the doors whooshed open.

James followed Jane out and stopped to watch her stride off toward her salon. The Alliance uniform fit her ass real nice. He wondered if his looked that good.

She disappeared around the corner.

James leaned on the railing overlooking the café below, where Lira sat on a bar stool. She was deep in conversation with another asari who worked behind the counter.

His omni-tool pinged. He answered on his earpiece.

“Vega.”

“Is everything all right, Lieutenant?” EDI asked. “Your omni-tool is traveling the opposite direction of Commander Shepard’s.”

“You following me, EDI?”

“It is my duty to monitor the health and status of all away-team members. Since you are not on a combat mission, I can disable tracking, if you prefer.”

“No, that’s okay: The Citadel can be just as dangerous as Omega, especially for a dumb grunt like me.”

“If you were unintelligent, Jane would not want to kiss you.”

“Hey,” he smiled, “That’s kind of personal. But thanks. And I meant I _look_ dumb. Or, at least, other people will assume I am. You know, ‘big brute?’”

“That is a previously undiscovered concept. Thank you for trusting me with the information.”

“Sure, EDI.”

It was weird to talk to an A.I. like she was human, but he guessed they were buds now, since she’d saved Jane back on Earth.

 _Earth_. Home.

He sighed and kicked the base of the railing with his toe. The water fountains on the Presidium were taller than a bungalow on the beach, but the water didn’t sound or smell like the surf. There were green plants sticking out of boxes along the walk. No flowers—the alien bouquets in the gift shop didn’t count. No palms.

No Emilio.

He might be gone. Like Captain Tony.

Like Robert.

No. He’d have made it out. To . . . somewhere.

Fuck this line of thought. He should move his ass and do something constructive.

“Well, I should go. Left Earth without even a duffel and I’d rather pick up my own shirts than dump a requisition on Steve. Talk to you later, EDI.”

“You sound troubled,” EDI said.

“I do?” He’d thought he’d been holding it together.

“I am well versed in tonal differentiation.”

“I bet you are.” He shook his head and started walking. The market directory showed a Gym Rats kiosk and a big and tall shop down by Meridian Place. He could stop in at Cipritine or Nos Astra, maybe get Jane an omni-blade mod for her rifle.

“Just thinking of home, EDI. I’m fine.”

“Can I find someone for you?” the A.I. asked.

“Don’t go clogging the feeds,” James said sternly. “That line is for the Fifth Fleet.”

“There is sufficient bandwidth,” EDI said. “Who are you looking for?”

“Emilio Vega. He was supposed to be in Frisco this week.”

“I can look for data on Mr. Vega’s whereabouts, starting with San Francisco.”

“I . . .” What would Jane say? She’d tell him to do it. “Thanks, EDI.”

“You are welcome, James. Let me know if you need anything else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish, English: Dios, god. La pasión, passion. Pendejo, stupid.
> 
> [Chapter 17](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726/chapters/45751426): Old Friends


	17. Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [RedEris](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RedEris/works) and [snugglebonnet](https://snugglebonnet.tumblr.com) for beta reading this chapter!
> 
> Content includes Citadel Security trying to disrupt a Pride event. No one is injured.

_I’m Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite store on the Citadel_ , Jane’s own voice greeted her over the loudspeaker as she entered the salon.

“Jane! Praise the queenly gods you’re all right.” Kyle rushed forward and hugged her almost as hard as Jeff had.

She squeezed him back. It was so good to be out of lock up, out with people.

“How’s Nancy?” she asked. His wife would be ticked she’d seen him first, but Jane wouldn’t be able to enjoy her next stop as much if she didn’t take care of her ratty hair situation first.

“Good, good. You’ve got to stop by the shop and see her when you’re done here.”

He led her to a chair, reclined her over a hair wash sink. The warm water instantly cleared her head. He gently worked suds into her hair, providing the most exquisite scalp massage she’d found in the whole galaxy, from friend or lover.

She let her eyes drift shut in peace.

“Now, I won’t stress you with much work talk,” he said. “Tell me the need-to-know and then we’ll plan what to do with this beautiful-but-disastrous mess on your head.”

“Reapers are on Earth.” She sighed as he rinsed her scalp with the hose. “Anderson’s leading the ground resistance. Hackett does what Hackett does.”

“And Mom?”

Jane loved it that he called her “Mom,” even though there was no familial relation and she was pretty sure they’d only met once for a brief handshake at some Academy graduation they’d been at a few years back.

“She visited me in lock up. Brought me a slurpie.”

“Good for her. I hear she’s Rear Admiral now?”

“Mmhhmm.”

“Now, last question, just to make sure my tax dollars are well spent: How much help is the Citadel Council sending Earth? Unless that’s classified; then you can tell me tonight instead of at work.”

Jane laughed. “They won’t grant me an audience until this afternoon.”

He tched disapprovingly and hung up the hose. “Commander, you’re not going to put up with that, are you?”

“You’re more important, so I found you first.”

“True. But my tool is scissors, not warships.”

He sat her up, fluffed her hair with a towel. Took her by the hand and guided her to his workstation. Then expertly combed and snipped away, shaping her hair into a bob that framed her chin.

“You and crew must come to dinner tonight,” he said. “Wait, our apartment’s too small.”

 “How about me, plus one.”

“Yes! Kisses to Tali.”

A tingle of shame started at the base of her neck, even though she had nothing to be ashamed of. She and Tali had agreed returning to friends status was the way to go. It had been Tali’s idea, actually, and for that, Jane was grateful.

“Uh, it’s not Tali.”

“Oh?” He lay a friendly hand on her shoulder. “Relax your shoulders, so I can cut this at a consistent angle.”

“James. He’s human. A marine. Alliance, like me.”

“Beefy?” Kyle wiggled his eyebrows and Jane chuckled with relief.

“Yeah,” she said, shyer than she’d been in forever.

He sighed dreamily. “Oh, I love beefy; So does Nancy. I’m so proud of you, branching out.”

“Hey,” she chuckled again, getting more comfortable talking about James with other people. Well, with Kyle at least.

EDI and Jeff were the only other people who knew. Though Cortez and Liara were smart enough they’d probably already read between the lines.

“Is he steamy?”

A flash of the elevator ran through her mind, sending electric shivers down her breasts, into her core. Her heart immediately sped up.

“I don’t know if James is comfortable with me sharing.”

“Hmm.” Kyle nodded his approval. “Tell him we won’t bite hard, unless he wants us to.”

Jane dissolved into giggles. “I tell him that and he won’t come to dinner.”

“Oh, but he must. I promise to be on my best behavior. Nancy will, too.

“ _There_.” He removed the cape and handed her a mirror to look at the back side. “You’re done. Now you’re a badass _and_ a masterpiece.”

She looked fabulous. At least her hair did.

“Fabulous, as always. Thank you.” She brought up her omni-tool to make a credits transfer, but he shooed it away.

“Don’t you go paying me, dear. Go, spend your coin on some nice lingerie or a new toy. And ping me when that dreaded Council business is over and I’ll put the noodles on. Spaghetti is _the_ romance dish, yes? _Amore, si?_ All that twisting of noodles around your fork with a spoon?”

He made the gesture with his hands and she laughed.

“Actually, how about Mexican tonight? Or something West Coast?”

He tilted his head, considering. “Jane, you hate spicy. This boy has got you good.”

“Just don’t put peppers in my fajitas.”

“Jane, you uncultured mercenary, there is more to _la verdadera cocina Mexicana_ than tortillas with naked ground beef.”

She shrugged sheepishly. “Can you do it?”

“Yehss.” He kissed her cheek. “Now go, before Nancy comes over here and eviscerates us both for keeping you so long.”

-

_I’m Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite store on the Citadel_.

Jane’s recorded greeting was more sultry for _Nancy’s Shop_ than _Kyle’s_ hair salon. Back then, Jane had recorded it as a lark. Now, the tone sent a nice shiver down her spine as she remembered James’ hands all over her in the elevator.

Maybe she should have dragged him off to a storage closet or one of those hourly rentals above Meridian Place.

“ _Ms._ Shepard, about damn time.” Nancy dragged her down into a hug even tighter than Jeff’s, her wild blonde curls enveloping them both.

Nancy leaned back to look at her, gave her shoulders a friendly squeeze. “Looks like The Commander could use some shut-eye. But those sexy freckles are still poppin’, and we’ll get you decked out right tonight.”

“Hi, Nancy.” Jane kissed her cheek. “He called you already.”

“Of course. My husband has strict orders to promptly call me any time the sexist ass of the Milky Way deigns to visit the Citadel.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Bah.” Nancy waived a hand dismissively. “When you see Kyle, you see me, and vice versa. We’re practically the same person. I’m old fashioned that way. Speaking of Old Fashioneds, what do you want to drink with our Mexican fare tonight?”

Jane grinned. Kyle was more than a foot taller than Nancy, a fashion beanpole with dreadlocks, while she was all sexy curves in a tailored business suit and heels.

But they had the same generous heart.

“Beer,” Jane said. “And whatever else Kyle decides is appropriate.”

“Got a room all ready for you. Would you like to browse first?”

“Tempting, but I know what I want, so let’s visit.”

Nancy led the way through a curtain of purple and silver ribbons, down the hall with guest rooms and offices. The black varnish on the walls was so shiny it was actually brighter in here than out in the Presidium, low white lights diffused everywhere.

“Beverage?” Nancy asked, handing her a data pad.

The room had two plump chairs, a glossy side table, and built-in shelves with drinks: Among them, microbrews, fresh lemonade made from the fruit of Kyle’s kitchen window box, and Champagne.

_Real_ champagne, from Champagne. Transported billions upon billions of miles. That wasn’t cheap.

Jane would never in a million years spend enough money at the shop to justify offering her the real stuff, but Nancy always did as casually as if it was free recycled air.

She had to keep her wits about her for the Council meeting, and she was still borderline dehydrated from the harrowing adventures of the Sol system.

“Water, please.”

Jane settled in a plush armchair of purple velvet and placed her order: A new set of tweezer nipple clamps with pretty purple bling on a connecting chain, nipple sucklers, a pump with flexible nip rings, and three tubes of unscented lube. One of the staff would have it all wrapped up in a pretty bag before she left.

The related products column on the side showed a cock ring attachment, too, but she didn’t want to presume to make such a selection for James. Not just yet. One kiss did not a playdate make.

Jane set the data pad aside. “Are you going to add escort services, now that they’ve legalized it on the Citadel?”

“No.” Nancy handed her a cut crystal glass filled with ice water. “The Council still refuses to provide humans the same protections Sha’ira's workers have and I’m not jeopardizing the safety of my people. Kyle and I still volunteer over at the Community Center on Monday and Wednesday nights, though, if you are around and want to join us.

“Some independent workers find shelter there and I always give them first dibs on trying new equipment as a paid tester. Perfectly legal and their feedback is invaluable.”

She sat down with her own glass and raised it in a silent toast.

“I wish competing with a thousand-year-old consort was the riskiest thing.”

“Oh?” Jane asked. “What happened?”

“That’s right. You weren’t here. I saved you one. Just a sec.”

“Saved me one what?”

“You’ll see.” Nancy got up and pulled a package out of the lower cupboard. It was wrapped in shiny gold giftwrap with a purple ribbon.

“Happy belated Pride, Jane.”

“Thanks!” She tore into the paper, only to find a plain navy blue Alliance jacket inside, without the logo. “Uh, ‘kay.”

“Look within, sweetheart.”

Jane turned the jacket inside out to find the reverse a wide-stripped pattern in rainbow colors.

“Ooh! Pretty!” She hugged the jacket to her chest, heart pounding with excitement. “Did we finally get a parade?”

“No.” Nancy shook her head and returned to her seat. “Fifth year in a row our Pride parade permit was denied. Only this time, it didn’t make it into the Council chambers. _Tevos_ called _me_ down to her office. No public hearing.”

“Bitch,” Jane grumbled.

“Yeah? Like, five years of explanations and she still didn’t understand.

“‘Why do you need a parade to celebrate different sexualities? They are a given.’”

“‘And gender identities, ma’am. We have them, just as asari do.’

“She did _not_ like that. She looked at me like I’d called her an Ardat-Yakshi with a dick.”

Jane snorted with amusement and gestured for her to go on.

“Hell, half of the consort’s customers are asari who don’t envision themselves the matriarch type, but don’t let Asari High Command ever hear that.

“Tevos says, ‘The Salarian Union and Turian Hierarchy do not approve of disruptions, and neither do we. Such a display would make citizens uncomfortable and harm the merchant district. I am sorry, but your request is denied.’

“I politely thanked her for the— _ahem_ —Council’s consideration of our human customs and then ran down to the Community Center and told them we were on for plan B.”

She blew out a deep breath, and the snark faded.

“June first, we all met at the refugee docks—Just twenty-five of us, those with enough money and clout in our businesses on the Citadel that it would be hard to make us disappear.

“Buddy system of two’s and three’s, so we’re not breaking any assembly laws. Everybody else had rainbow cupcakes at the Center, where they were inside and could be more open. I mean, they _legally_ allow parties of up to a hundred on the Presidium without a permit, but we weren’t going to risk it.

“I mean, shit, I’ve got _two_ salarian lawyers on speed dial now, Jane. That’s crazy. I shouldn’t need any.

“We put on our rainbow jackets and walked to Apollo’s. All nice and orderly. No signs or floats or streamers. Kyle was sad we didn’t have glitter. Just talking peacefully amongst ourselves on the walk over. There was some forced laughter, but we were all tense. You know, in that way.”

“I do,” Jane said, her heart aching for not being there to walk with them. Then again, as a Council Spectre, she might not have been welcome.

“People turned and stared. You usually don’t find more than two or three humans walking together at once. And I’m sure it’s the flashiest they’ve seen us dress in public—the clubs are a different story, but we can’t settle for hiding in clubs now, can we?”

“No.” Jane shook her head. “We can’t.”

“So, we get there, place our orders, and pay. Just sitting and standing around, sipping Thessia Temples and Coca Colas, munching on appetizers—avoiding the nuts in the red bowls, of course. That one time Kyle accidentally ate turian food is a night I never want to repeat.

“Not a drop of alcohol, just in case C-Sec would come by with breathalyzers to claim we were disorderly.”

Nancy’s hands trembled in her lap.

“Hey,” Jane knelt down in front of her, took her hand. “Just tell me what you want to.”

“They came. Big, fully armored turians with big guns. You probably know what kind of rifles they are, but I just see _gun_ , okay? We’re sipping soft drinks and they’ve got fucking guns.”

Nancy gripped Jane’s hand tight.

“And the biggest guy, with the longest fringe; he heads straight for me. He _knows_ who I am, and he is not happy.

“And then—” she offered a bittersweet smile, tears pooling in her eyes. “And then the asari bartender—Matriarch Aethyta—she gets in his way. She stands in front of all of us, wearing one of _our_ jackets that one of the younger ladies had offered to let her try on—her favorite was the yellow stripe, she said, how it blended with all the others—

“‘Don’t harass my customers,’ she said. She’s got that low, gravelly voice, you know? Even when she’s nice? Didn’t bare her teeth or put on a blue light show or anything. The dude looked into her eyes for about half a second before ordering his squad back to the main elevator. I don’t know why they didn’t head back to C-Sec. Maybe to report to the Council? Who knows?

“And Armando Bailey—your old friend Bailey—is rushing over, asking him what the hell he thinks he’s doing and the turian just blows by him, saying they don’t take orders from him anymore.

“The matriarch waves Bailey off, Bailey leaves us alone, and we stuck around for about another half-hour, just to prove we hadn’t been scared off . . .

“It was a close one, though.

“Scariest Pride I’ve ever had. We’re on the Citadel: There’s nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide—not like Earth. And they already think we’re demanding too much. A human Councilor? Ha! Things have gotten more tense now that Admiral Anderson went back to Earth and Lord Shithead Udina took his place.”

She sniffled and dabbed at the corner of her mascara with her pinky.

“Oh, sweetie, sit back up in your chair.” Nancy dragged her up and led Jane back to the armchair. Nancy sat on the arm of the chair, gave Jane’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.

_Man_ , had she missed this kind of connection when she was in lock up.

Jane rested a comforting hand on Nancy’s thigh.

“Look at me, blubbering on. How about you? What have you been up to? No, wait, first I have to ask: Last year, did Tavos really tell Admiral Anderson that your hearing would go better if that asshole Udina was present? Kyle says you said so, but . . . ?”

“Yeah,” Jane smirked. “Anderson told her no.”

“What ridiculous bullshit. And good for him.”

“Yeah.” Jane chuckled and nodded, patting Nancy’s leg. “Well, I really should head over there soon, in case they’ve amended the docket. Six-ish for dinner? I’ll bring James if he’s game.”

“Yes!” Nancy jumped up and kissed her cheek.

On the way out, when she stopped by the front desk to collect her purchases, Jane had to reach up on tip toe to receive a kiss farewell from another old friend.

“Thank you, Miss Vera.” Then she whispered in her ear: “I know that stitching. Thank you for making my pretty jacket.”

They’d spent many shore leaves together in front of Nancy’s fire, cuddling and sipping wine and trading stories while Miss Vera stitched away on everything from custom garters to Kyle and Nancy’s wedding tablecloth.

“You’re welcome, dear. If you’re here for New Year’s, I’ll take you to Nancy’s party. Bring anyone you wish.”

“I’d like that.”

Happier than she’d been in six months, Jane headed off toward the Council chambers carrying an embroidered shopping bag containing her purchases and the gift. One side of the bag said _Look within_. The other read, _Nancy’s Shop has you covered._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italian, English: Amore, si? Love, yes? Spanish, English: La verdadera cocina Mexicana, real Mexican cuisine.
> 
> Happy Pride Month, everyone!
> 
> [Chapter 18](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726/chapters/46930573): What’s dinner when the galaxy burns?


	18. What’s dinner when the galaxy burns?

“Your superweapon is impossible,” Valern said. “Don’t waste our time.”

He ignored the schematics hologram, ignored Liara’s report that it was feasible to build.

“No.” Jane’s voice echoed in the near-empty Council chamber. The public had been escorted out by C-Sec, shaving the ten-minute hearing down to nine minutes.

Jane hid her anger deep inside. She was going to make every second count.

“Admiral Hackett has already begun construction. It _will_ work, and we can finish it fast enough _if we work together_. The Council has a responsibility to _all_ the galaxy. Not just Sur’Kesh. And how long do you think Thessia can hold out against millions of station-sized A.I. hellbent on your destruction?”

She turned her gaze on the turian councilor, Sparatus, who had pinged her with a brief text before the meeting: _Spectre status upheld. Intel office access authorized_.

“I’ve seen the Spectre reports,” she said. “Palaven will soon be overrun. The might of the Hierarchy will fall without the strength of humanity. We _all_ will fall without each other.”

Personally, she though Anderson and Hackett would save enough people for humanity to survive, but boasting that in front of these assholes wouldn’t get her the support she needed to do her job right. The First Contact War was only thirty years past, barely a blink of an eye within an asari’s lifespan. As the new kid on the block, humans were still considered more of annoyance than an asset. Hell, they’d only allowed humans in because the humans and turians had nearly wiped each other out with nuclear war, a fact Garrus reminded her of at least once a week when he was around.

She hoped he was okay.

Sparatus’ mandibles twitched, but he did not speak, nor break eye contact.

_Look at what you’ve done to the Batarians. They could have been powerful allies_. She swallowed back the accusation. There was no time to debate every one of the Council’s sins.

The batarians’ relay had been hit first in a surprise attack. With no warning or allies, they were practically extinct.

And the exiled Quarians’ Flotilla was out of contact. They could use their engineers. They could use their fleets.

Jane would settle for a message that Tali lived.

“The Reapers won’t stop at Earth,” she said. “They’ll destroy every organic being in the galaxy if we don’t find a way to stop them.”

The asari councilor, Tevos, looked to the salarian. Valern shook his head.

“The cruel and unfortunate truth,” Tevos said, “is that while the Reapers focus on Earth, we can prepare and regroup.”

“We are convening a summit amongst our species,” Valern said. “If we can manage to secure our own borders, we may once again consider aiding you.”

Right. He’d find another excuse then, too. If they all lived that long.

“I’m sorry, Commander,” Tevos said. “That is the best we can do.” She rang the recess bell so C-Sec would re-open the doors to the public.

Jane huffed out a frustrated grunt and picked up her shopping bag from where it sat by her feet.

“I’m sorry, Shepard,” Liara said. “Maybe if we . . .” She shrugged helplessly. She couldn’t very well say anything about being the Shadow Broker out here on the Citadel.

“You did well, Liara. Go back to the ship, get some rest. Unless you had other things to do here. We can meet after dinner to plan next steps.”

Sparatus came down the nearest stairwell. “Commander, a word?”

“Of course, Councilor.”

She followed him toward his office.

Udina glared down at them from another stairway. Jane resisted the urge to give him the finger.

“You do good work, Shepard.” That was high praise, coming from a turian. “I owe you my life. The Destiny Ascension. The Citadel. I can’t order fleets to Earth, but I can tell you how to get them.”

“I’m listening.”

“Primarch Fedorian is stranded on Palaven. The Normandy’s stealth systems can get him out.”

“So far, you’ve only said how I can help you.”

“The war summit can’t proceed without him. A grateful Primarch can make sure reinforcements for Earth are part of the deal.”

“That’s not a guarantee, Sparatus, but I’ll take it. I’ll do the turians this favor.”

“Spectre requisitions are at your disposal,” he said.

They’d reached his office.

“One more thing, Commander. One of your former crew, Vakarian. He was planetside when the Reapers arrived. No news since.”

“Thank you, sir. Until we hear otherwise, we can assume he’s alive and fighting.”

-

James took Steve’s advice and wore a dark blue button up and black pants for his meet-up with Jane. When he found her by the Krogan memorial, he nearly swallowed his tongue. She wore a skin-tight green tee with flowing silver letters, _Look Within_ , across her chest, and blue jeans with silver bling on the ass pockets.

“Hey!” Her mega-watt smile eclipsed everything else on the Citadel. “Lookin’ sharp, James. Ready for dinner?”

“Yeah.” He leaned in for a quick kiss, enamored by how her eyes sparkled afterward. _He_ had done that.

“Wanna hold hands?” she asked in a playful pseudo whisper.

He offered his hand, she took it, and she led the way to some swank civilian apartments where each door listed its apartment number in shining gold.

Jane knocked and the door was open by a lanky black guy with his dreads up in a rainbow scarf. He wore a white kitchen apron.

“Jane! Hi!” He sounded American. He kissed both Jane’s cheeks, European style, and gave her a fierce hug.

“James, welcome, I’m Kyle, come in.” He shook James’ hand and thumped him with a one-armed hug.

James froze for a second, then gave him a quick hug. Not even he and Steve hugged. Except for that one time at Robert’s memorial service.

“Come into the kitchen right away. Our girl Jane does not like to wait for the food.”

“Damn right,” Jane said, “We’ve waited long enough.” She led James down the narrow hallway.

“Bathroom’s here,” Jane said, patting a closed door on their right as they went by.

The whole apartment smelled like home: Fried onions and veggies, sizzling meats, flour in the air.

The window overlooked the Presidium’s tallest fountain. At the base of the window were two produce planters and a UV light.

Everything was polished white marble, gray slate, and dark woods. The island between the cooking and eating area was stocked with your typical cerveza, various liquors, some microbrews he’d never heard of, _Champagne_ , white and red wines, and Jarritos soda in every flavor from mandarin to mango and lime.

They had fucking tamarind soda.

“James, welcome.” A short blonde woman emerged from the other doorway out of the kitchen, her arms open wide. She wore a sleek red wrap around dress that accentuated her ample bosom and nice hips. Her lips were painted just as red, one of those _classy_ , sexy reds.

Did Jane know anyone who wasn’t hot? And loaded?

He looked like a dime store giveaway next to these people.

“I’m Nancy.”

He was ready for the hug this time. He bent over and was careful to keep his hands above her waist.

She kissed his cheek and did the same for Jane.

“Please, what can I get you to drink?” Nancy gestured toward the island, where Kyle was setting down a steaming platter of quesadillas and a stack of hors d’oeuvre plates.

“Jalapenos on the left, plain chicken and cheese on the right,” he said. “Get ‘em while they’re hot.”

“Ooh.” Jane pulled James over to examine the platter. She pulled a pepper-less wedge onto a little plate and took a bite.

“Ow, cheese still too hot.” She waved a hand in front of her open mouth. “James, what do you want to drink?”

“A tamarind Jarritos would be great, thanks.”

Nancy opened a bottle and handed it to him. He took a sip.

_Perfecto_. It was like it was when he found it in Uncle Emilio’s fridge.

“How is it?” Jane asked.

“Sweet and sour. Want to try?” He offered her the bottle.

Instead of taking the bottle, she took hold of his hand so he could tip the bottle against her lips. It was a rather personal gesture, especially in front of people he didn’t know, but he watched with fascination as she swallowed.

And then grimaced.

He laughed. “Chica, tu cara. Told you it was sour.”

She scowled at him. “You said it was _sweet_ and sour.”

He shrugged with a smile, piling jalapeno quesadillas on a little plate.

Then he checked out all the dips that Kyle had put out in white ceramic bowls with honest-to-god-sterling-silver spoons. James added black bean salsa, cilantro and tomato dip, guacamole, and sour cream on another plate.

Jane eyed it with trepidation.

He assumed the salsa with the single jalapeno sticking out of it was the spicy one, so he took a generous spoonful of that, too.

Jane added blue corn chips to her plate and a dab of veggie salsa from the only bowl with a gold spoon in it. Had to be mild. Plain chicken, mild salsa: Jane’s friends were looking out for her without making a big deal out of it.

He was starting to like them already, and they hadn’t sat down to dinner yet.

“Here, Jane,” Nancy handed her a reddish bottle. “I like the strawberry.”

Jane set her plate aside and took a sip, made a yummy sound.

She slid an arm around his waist. “Okay, you can keep your own soda, Vega.”

She kept her hand on his hip while she ate her chips and salsa. The feel of her against his side heated him up more than the jalapeno dip. Thank god the counter hid his growing hard-on.

“Tamales are up. Everyone to the table.” Kyle put two platters on the table, which was crammed full of more bowls of beans, rice, and veggies. He hung his apron on a hook by the door and held Nancy’s chair for her.

James followed his lead and got Jane’s chair. The laughter in her eyes made him squirm, but he held it together.

Jane helped herself to a tamale from the platter that wasn’t garnished with peppers, so he assumed the other platter was the hot one.

“So,” Kyle put a white linen napkin in his lap, “Battlespace didn’t air a Council update tonight. Rumor has it they gave us a hard no.”

Jane moved her chair in closer—to the table _and_ to James, so their knees touched under the table. He wasn’t going to complain.

“Officially, it was a provisional maybe,” Jane said, “but, yes, the Council told Earth to fuck off while simultaneously ‘asking’ for favors. We leave for Palaven oh-eight-hundred.”

Yeah. That. James had read her sitrep, then pushed Palaven and Earth from his mind while consulting with Steve about his evening attire. If this was the last night of his life he wasn’t in active combat, he wanted to focus on the woman at his side.

“Any word on Garrus?” Nancy asked. “Or . . . ?”

Jane shook her head. “They’re out of contact.”

She took a hard swallow of her strawberry soda. “Anything exciting happen at the shop today?”

Nancy’s sly grin was sexy as hell. “Well, the Savior of the Citadel graced us with her patronage today. Thanks for the promotions, by the way.” Glass in hand, she gestured at Jane’s clingy tee, then sipped from her drink.

Jane laughed. “I may be the most famous person to visit you today, but I’m certainly not the most interesting. Still, I appreciate your discretion.”

The rest of the dinner conversation fell into safe, general conversation. Which produce Kyle was growing for herbal shampoos, Nancy’s latest casual wear line to promote the shop, and question after question about James.

He fell into the easy rhythm. Everyone at the table missed clean Earth air. Emilio, palm trees, and the surf were all easy to talk about. Jane insisted James show off the photo of them without eyebrows, and Kyle and Nancy seemed impressed.

He’d had friends back on Earth. Work friends near his Alliance office. This normal stuff, where rank and duty weren’t a thing, where people forgot the military even existed—he’d not had it since before Fehl Prime.

After strawberry shortcake and hot fudge Sundaes—Jane had both—Nancy led them all to the living room, to a pair of modern-line sofas covered in purple velvet. Jesus, did this apartment cost as much as the Normandy?

It was an interior room with recessed lighting in the crown molding. No window, but plenty of light.

The couches faced each other over a red oriental rug. The coffee table was white wood table with curling legs and a glass cover to protect a design painted on the tabletop. Deep, dark bookshelves covered two walls, floor-to-ceiling, full of books and small sculptures

One of them was a detailed jade carving of two young men, uh, _cavorting_.

The wall back into the kitchen had an oil painting hung on either side of the door. One was a closeup of someone peeling open a peach with their thumbs. It was just a piece of fruit, but something about it made his cheeks go hot. That was probably the intention, considering the painting on the other side:

A woman with rich brown skin sat on a throne in a spacious sandstone palace full of palm trees. At her feet lounged adoring men from all around the world. They were dressed in fine, strategically draped fabrics that showcased plenty of arm, leg, and chest. Limbs were intertwined. Those closest to her touched her arms and legs with reverence. She held a gentle hand to the cheek of one, touched the shoulder of another. Her bare foot rested on the hip of one who caressed her ankle, a rapturous look on his face.

His heart swelled in his chest. How could it be so peacefully relaxed yet passionate at the same time?

“Another of Kyle’s talents,” Nancy said on her way by. “That one’s my favorite.”

She’d seen him staring. Now he really did feel his cheeks blush. He quickly settled on the couch by Jane, who scooched closer. He linked their fingers together and lay their joined hands on his thigh, looking for an anchor. He didn’t know what to say.

“Bourbon, Jane?” Nancy asked.

“Just water with lemon, thanks. Have to stop by the Spectre office again yet tonight.”

“How about you, James? Whiskey, cerveza, Champagne?”

He cleared his throat, trying for cool and casual. “Cerveza would be great, thanks.”

Nancy’s manicure was as red as her dress. The simple silver band she wore on her fourth finger matched the one Kyle wore.

_Stop checking out her hand, man_. What the hell was wrong with him tonight? Everything had been fine at the dinner table.

She handed him a cold bottle.

“Gracias.”

She nodded and handed Jane ice water in a cut crystal glass with a fresh lemon slice, then settled on the opposite sofa next to her husband, two whiskeys in hand.

She crossed her left knee over her right, allowing the fabric to slide off one side. The slit of Nancy’s skirt went all the way up to her belt. Her strappy ballroom heels sparkled like rubies.

Kyle kissed her cheek and took a sip from his glass. “So, James, tell us about this lovely cottage of your grandmother’s.”

_Her wildest painting was Jesucristo._ At least those he’d seen. As a matriarch of a rowdy family, she probably had held plenty of passion. He’d just never thought of it that way, especially since she’d been widowed before he was born.

“Her home always smelled just like your kitchen did tonight. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“El gusto es mío.”

James smiled. Kyles accent was almost good. Definitely better than Jane’s.

“She kept you fed and in line, just like any good CO. By the time I was twelve, the beds were too short for me, but it was always good to stay at Abuela’s.”

He wondered if Emilio had managed to save any of her patchwork quilts with the family names embroidered in the corner. He’d love to show them to Jane.

They fell back into the easy conversation they’d shared with dinner and soon James was surprised to find they’d chatted about normal shit for a whole hour.

“Well,” Jane said with a sigh, “duty calls.” She stood and set her empty glass on the coffee table.

Kyle and Nancy walked them to the door. The tiny hallway was crowded with the four of them laughing and trying to finagle goodbye hugs in the tiny space.

“Goodnight!” Kyle and Nancy called out cheerfully, dissolving into intimate giggles before their door was fully closed.

Jane grinned. “Well, _somebody_ doesn’t have to do paperwork tonight.”

“Yeah.” He followed her to the elevator, head happily buzzing from their time together. “Walk you to the embassies.”

She grinned over her shoulder and reached back to yank him closer.

“Jane!” They stumbled forward and he caught the far wall with a hand before he crushed her. “You trynna bust your nose?”

She laughed and arched back against him, laying her hand over his where he gripped her hip. She reached behind him to hit the button for their floor, then ground back against his crotch.

“ _Jane_ ,” he hissed.

“Hmm,” she purred. “This has been distracting me all night.”

“And here I thought I was covering it so well,” he muttered, throat thick and voice gruff. This really wasn’t the place—but there was a railing along the back wall and he had the sudden vision of her holding on to it while he fucked her from behind.

No.

He settled for kissing her, a swift, deep meeting of mouths to tide them over. “You’re really not making this nookieless night any easier, Jane.”

“But I am easy,” she teased with an exaggerated pout.

“No,” he chuckled. “You really aren’t. And I’m one lucky son of a bitch.”

She turned and leaned back on the railing, oblivious to how it made that lucky green tee shirt hug her tits.

“Someday soon we need to find privacy somewhere other than a public elevator,” she said.

“Yeah.” He wanted to ask EDI to lock the door, but Jane deserved better than a greasy steel wall.

And so did he. He could wait.

“I’ve got to go back to the Spectre office. Sorry you can’t come.”

He chuckled, nuzzling her cheek with his nose, and she rewarded him with a happy hum. “It’s okay,” he said. “We can’t be connected at the hip all the time.”

“Too true.” She pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Don’t wait up. I’ll see you at oh-seven-thirty.”

“Yeah. Sleep fast.”

“You too.”

Unlike most of the Citadel, the embassies closed at “night” and on intergalactic holidays. Politicians and their bureaucratic minions need their beauty sleep, after all.

James stood in the dim, deserted foyer and watched Jane walk down the hall toward the human ambassador’s office, where she turned left. Before disappearing into the Spectre office, she turned and blew him a goodnight kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish, English: Perfecto, perfect. Chica, tu cara, girl, your face. Jesucristo, Jesus Christ. El gusto es mío, the pleasure is mine. Abuela, grandmother.
> 
> The peach painting was inspired by [this advertisement](https://youtu.be/pWepVLHpxnI) for Kondomerit, "Norway's no. 1 sex shop," which cleverly figured out how to advertise without nudity: it's all food.
> 
> The other painting was inspired by an original piece I saw on Tumblr, but can’t seem to find in my reblogs. If it sounds familiar, feel free to message me (I’m dafan7711 on Tumblr as well) and I’ll link it if it’s the one I’m thinking of.
> 
> [Chapter 19](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726/chapters/48437837): Menae (Priority: Palaven)


	19. Menae (Priority: Palaven)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content includes mention of the krogan genophage and genocide.

 

“Exiting FTL in three. Two. One,” Jeff said. “Stealth remains engaged. Let’s hope they don’t have windows.”

“Yeah. Let’s hope the geth didn’t tell them that’s how we got them the last time. Structural weakness and all that.”

Jane stood behind his pilot’s chair, wearing her full N7 battle gear, her helmet under one arm. Menae’s atmo was breathable, but a war zone warranted additional protection.

“Thanks, Commander.” Jeff grimaced. “You can add geth joining the Reapers to my list of nightmares now.”

He headed for orbit above the turian FOB on their largest moon, Menae. “ETA seven minutes. EDI, stealth status? Did the jump put us on enemy sensors?”

“Negative. No bleed on emissions. We will have to vent in the next twelve hours. Engineer Adams would prefer ten.”

“Noted,” Jane said. “Moreau has the conn.”

Then she headed down to the shuttle bay.

-

James helped Steve with his pre-flight checklist, then sat in awkward silence on the shuttle with Liara while she fiddled on her omni-tool. She’d changed from white-and-blue science officer armor into a steel gray. The matching helmet sat on the seat beside her.

He was nearly twice her size, but her biotics could crush him in a blink. A good ally to have.

She looked up briefly, gave him a little smile, and went right back to messaging whoever it was on the other end. How she could get a signal to anyone, especially out here in a war zone, was beyond him. Maybe EDI helped.

Hurry up and wait.

He leaned back in his seat.

“Shuttle bay, conn,” Joker said on overhead, “ETA five minutes.”

James sat taller, looked out the open shuttle door. Where was Jane?

The elevator whooshed open and she came into view a few seconds later, hopping into the shuttle with practiced ease. “Status, Cortez?”

“Good to go.”

She gave Liara a friendly slap on the shoulder and sat down on James’ other side.

It was right, sitting by her, ready for war. He felt strangely at peace. They fit together, on the battlefield and off.

“T’Soni?” Jane asked.

“No further intel. Ground-to-satellite comms interrupted.”

“Vega?”

“Good to go.”

Then they were off.

The smooth flight didn’t last long.

“Coming in hot,” Steve said, with a swift lurch to starboard. “Three hundred yards and closing.”

They secured their helmets, readied their weapons, and braced for the swift descent.

They were on their feet before the door slid open, leaping out, trusting Liara’s biotics to slow their fall.

Into the thick of it.

James rolled and squat behind a boulder, concussive shots loud through his external mic.

“Frag out!” a turian on his left threw a grenade. Gray rock filled the air.

James turned to assess their flank—

A husk lunged for his head.

Too close for his weapon. No time to raise his fist.

“Argh!” Jane yelled, catching it with a flying tackle and smashing its head in with the butt of her rifle.

More of the creepy bastards sprinted for them, just a few strides behind their friend. James hit a trio of them with carnage and Liara warped the rest into dust.

“Behind!” the turian shouted. He and his last remaining squadmate opened fire. These reaper troops were shielded. Taller. And armed.

Liara threw a biotic bubble up around the turians just in time.

Most of enemy went down with another cluster grenade. A solitary survivor sprung up from cover, aiming for Jane.

Lira fried its shields and James put it down with a carnage round.

Jane approached the remains cautiously, took off her helmet for a closer look. “Turian-Reaper hybrid, like Saren after he died. Leapfrogging son of a bitch.”

“According to EDI’s report, the turians call them marauders,” Liara said, pulling up her scanner. “I don’t know if any of them have Saren’s abilities, but this one appears to be a basic shock troop.”

The two surviving turians trotted up. “Thanks, human.” The leader stopped short and saluted, suddenly formal. “Commander Shepard. Didn’t know to prepare a welcome.”

James grinned behind his helmet. Even turians saluted her. He was dating the most bad-ass marine in the Alliance.

“That’s okay, Sergeant, not even the primarch knew I was coming.”

The turians exchanged a glance.

“What’s the situation?” Jane asked.

“Primarch Fedorian’s dead. Harvesters took down his shuttle when he tried to leave the moon. Our orders from General Corinthus are to clear the comm tower, get it operational, so he can get orders from Palaven Command.”

Fuck. The guy they were supposed to rescue to get backup for Earth was dead.

“We’ll cover you,” Jane said. “Lead on.”

It wasn’t far, but they had to fight their way there. The ground console was fried, so the turian engineer climbed up the ladder to hotwire a workaround, Liara just behind him with a biotic shield.

James, Jane, and the other turian kept the husks at bay with carnage and concussive rounds.

Liara’s voice crackled in his helmet. “Tower online. We’re headed down.”

The area was clear at the moment, but James kept his eyes peeled while their turian ally tested communications. A platoon of turians climbed over the from the next hill. Good. They could hold this position while Jane planned their next move.

“Tobestik to Menae base . . . Sir, comms restored. Commander Shepard is here to assist . . . Yes, sir. Understood.

“Commander Shepard, patching you into base communications.”

A triple beep and they were in.

“Commander Shepard?”

“Yes.”

“General Corinthus. Please report to base, ASAP.”

“Affirmative,” Jane said. “Vega, T’Soni, move out.”

Back a few hundred yards from the comm tower, the turians’ base was cordoned off by head-high rock walls and steel lift gates. In it, temporary military pods sheltered equipment, like three-sided camping trailers.

Guards lowered the nearest gate and waived them through.

Jane made a beeline for the most guarded station, where a turian in black and red armor worked over a holographic map, barking orders, and sending subordinates to strategic support points. He wore white clan markings over the gray-brown, pebbly skin of his face, all the way up into his fringe.

A gray-skinned turian strode up the opposite ramp. He wore blue and silver armor and his left cheek was tattooed with blue clan markings. The right side of his face was a mess of scars that no one should have survived, turian or otherwise. Everything else about him was smooth, including his confident strut and the extra-long Black Widow sniper rifle he carried.

“Garrus!” Jane strode forward and the turian offered her a handshake—a two-handed handshake. How friendly.

The other turian saluted him. “Vakarian, sir, I didn’t see you.”

“At ease, General. Status?”

“Comms are up. Palaven Command link established. General Adrien Victus is next in line. His comms specialist isn’t responding.”

“Hmm,” Vakarian hummed. “We’ll have to find him on foot.”

Jane took off her helmet. “We’re here to extract the primarch for a war summit. Councilor Sparatus’ orders.”

Corinthus stiffened.

The turians were silent for moment.

“Sir,” Corinthus said. “Will you be accompanying the Spectre on this mission?”

“Yes. Unless Victus tells me otherwise.” Garrus nodded toward the other side of camp. “Shepard, I’ll meet your team by the gate.”

“Of course. Good luck, General Corinthus.”

The general nodded sternly and Jane led James and Liara out, leaving Garrus alone to say his final farewell to his fellow turian.

Palaven loomed in front of them. A bright blaze of orange fire had spread so far on one of the continents that they could see it with their bare eyes.

Jane pointed toward the center of it. “See that mess? Garrus’ hometown is dead center in the middle of it. So’s his dad and sister.”

“Without a primarch, how long they gonna last here?” James asked.

“I don’t know.” Jane put her helmet back on, checked her armor seals. “And it looks like Garrus has gone from C-Sec drop out to Turian Hierarchy big wig. He’s got some explaining to do. Fuck. I’ve been out of it for six months. EDI, why didn’t you tell me?”

The A.I. joined their channel. “Do you want me to hack the Turian Hierarchy, Jane?”

“Well—” she gave an exasperated grunt. “No, EDI, that’s not necessary. We knew he was here, and that was probably more information than we’re technically entitled to. Don’t add any stressors to their systems right now. Let’s just get Garrus, get the primarch, and get out of here. The best way—the only way—to save Palaven is to get this Prothean device built ASAP.”

“Victus,” Liara said. “I’ve heard of him. He’s known for playing fast and loose with strategy.”

“Which the Turian Hierarchy hates,” Jane said. “But he made General anyway. Can we trust him? Can he get the job done?”

“I think so,” Liara said. “His strategies are remarkably effective. During the Taetrus uprising, his squad discovered a salarian spy ring about the same time the turian separatists did. Victus pulled back, and the rebels took valuable fortifications.”

“And he let the spies and separatists kill each other?” James said. “Clever.”

Liara nodded. “When Victus moved back in, he didn’t lose a man. But the turian meritocracy is based on protocol, not cleverness.”

Still, James was impressed. “Results kind of guy, _and_ saved his squad. Can’t wait to meet—”

The scream of a synthetic echoed overhead.

“ _Incoming!_ ” James shouted, and they all hit the deck.

A harvester swooped over their heads, blasting away at the airfield on the far side of camp.

Pilots and mechanics dragged injured turians behind cover. Most fighters were in the air, but some were grounded for repairs and refueling. Half of them burned.

A crew spun up a turret on the nearest wall.

The creature came around for another pass.

“They’re reaperizing worm necks now?” James said. “Ah, never should have left Earth.”

Jane grunted and jumped to her feet. “If they’re on Tuchanka, I’m gonna rip Harbinger’s arsehole out through his ear hole.”

“Or Tarith,” Liara said.

“Fuck Tarith. They can have it.” Jane lobbed a proximity mine at the beast—a direct hit.

It roared and veered off course, dropping husks and marauders onto the field.

“T’Soni!” Jane shouted.

Liara raised a bubble around the three of them with one hand, threw a singularity into an oncoming swarm of husks with her other.

James and Jane flanked her, taking down ground troops with carnage and inferno rounds.

The turret crew was still focused on the harvester, which was speeding back toward them with an angry shriek.

A line of turians readied their seventy-sevens. Their captain gave the order and every missile launcher fired.

_Kaa-bwloooooooommmmmmmm_

The harvester shrank inward, then exploded into a violent fireball that knocked everyone outside of Liara’s bubble on their ass. She barely blinked. Her biotic shield didn’t waver at all.

“Showoff, T’Soni.” Vakarian swaggered up.

She let the shield drop. “Good to see you in one piece, Garrus.”

He nodded an acknowledgement, then turned to Jane. “I can take you to your target’s last known location. I was there earlier today.”

Perhaps a sniper wasn’t the best person to take point when husks popped up over hills in your face, but this was the turians’ home turf and James was content to just follow along with Jane.

Once they rounded the first bend, Jane stopped and laughed. She dragged the turian into a hug, armor clanging against armor.

“You’ve got _generals_ saluting you now, Garrus. Our vigilante’s gone legit. Hey, just how far up the line of succession are you these days?”

“Don’t go there, Shepard.”

“Primarch Vakarian,” she said, overdramatic. “Has a nice ring to it.”

“Jane, please, it’s just Garrus for you. And I still don’t know how to follow rules, so, whatever happens in the Hierarchy, they’ll find a way to bypass me on that one.”

He led on.

It was a long trek across rocky charcoal-gray terrain. Around boulders, down rough ravines with dim footpaths, and past wreckages of more shuttles and fighters.

They fell into a grim silence, focusing on making swift progress while retaining enough energy for the next fight.

There was always a next fight.

There would be until they made the Reapers gone.

They approached another camp, the ground shaking with fresh ordinances. Orange flames exploded up from the center into the black sky. Harvesters roared overhead, dropping more ground troops.

“Double time, people!” Jane shouted, barreling through the broken gate, past the still bodies of turian guards.

Even with his helmet and mic filter, the crush of combat sounds overwhelmed his ears. The ground shook. His armor vibrated against his chest.

But his hands were steady, his focus on the next enemies ahead. He knew this. A fight was simple, straightforward. Put down the enemy and don’t get hit.

And then a new monster leapt across the field, crushing an entire squad with a single charge.

Bi-pedal. Hunched like a gorilla. Two clawed arms. Muscled shoulders as broad as a turret and a skeletal reaper face like the marauders.

Thud. Thud. Thud. It took a few slow steps, then charged like the fastest krogan he’d ever seen, eviscerating another turian.

“Holy hell!” James shouted. “What the hell is that thing?”

“Brute!” Garrus said. “Stay out of reach and go for its armor!”

Armor rounds, carnage rounds, and at least three proximity mines before the thing stumbled and hit the dirt, taking down yet another turian with a last sprinting lash.

The turians—the greatest military might in the galaxy—were getting decimated.

It was a tense fight: Two more brutes, a dozen marauders, and who knows how many husks swarmed the overrun camp.

Without Liara’s bubble, Jane’s rifle alongside his, and Garrus picking off the ranged enemies with overload, he wouldn’t have made it.

“Arrgh!” Jane shouted angrily, catching the last husk by the throat, throwing it on the ground, and stomping on it.

Garrus’ mandibles twitched. “Nice to see you haven’t lost your voice, locked up with no one to talk to,” he teased. “Or is it just me you’ve been ignoring?”

She discretely gave him the middle finger.

James grinned behind his helmet.

“Shepard!” Liara admonished her.

Jane laughed. “Missed you, too, big guy. But there was nothing for it.”

James’ smile faded. Had they . . . ? He shook his head. Didn’t matter. That was before he’d met her.

“Vakarian—where did you go?” Another turian came forward. He had a long gray fringe, off-white clan markings, and wore the black-and-red armor of a high-ranking general.

_The_ high-ranking general, if this was Victus. The new primarch.

“Heavy Reaper unit on the right flank. I believe your exact words were, ‘Get that thing the hell off my men.’”

“Appreciate it.” The general nodded an acknowledgement. “Sit rep?”

“Harvesters took out Fedorian’s shuttle,” Garrus said. “No survivors.”

The turians stood very still, staring at each other for a moment.

“Who?” Victus asked.

“You, sir. The Citadel Council has called for you to chair a war summit.”

Another moment of silence.

“I’m primarch of Palaven? Negotiating for the turian hierarchy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Spirits protect us from diplomats,” Victus said, and Garrus chuckled.

“I’m going to piss off a lot of people.”

“Yes, sir. You’re perfect: By-the-book isn’t going to win this one.”

“Agreed. The Reapers are using our own tactics against us: destroy the enemy with overwhelming force. I admire their strategy, but—to be perfectly frank—fear their brutality. You’re witnessing the destruction of fifteen thousand years of turian civilization, Vakarian. We will fight to the last soul with our turian brothers and sisters.”

“Yes, _sir_!”

“Shepard, I’ll dispense my final orders and be ready for evac in five. I take it the Alliance will be at this summit?”

Jane stepped forward. “Yes, sir. The Normandy stands ready to host the deliberations.”

“Heh,” Victus said. “Linron will be there, Commander. ‘Deliberations’ is much too gentle a term. Expect another fight on your ship.

“I’ll do my duty, Shepard, and lead this war summit, but we’re going to need more if you want turian fleets sent to Earth or anywhere else.”

“What’s that?” she asked cautiously.

“The krogan.”

“ _The krogan._ The people you tried to eradicate.”

Ooh. James flinched. So much for diplomacy.

The primarch remained unfazed. “Yes. Convince the krogan to defend Palaven, and I’ll send turian fleets wherever you want, including Earth.”

“Very well, Primarch Victus,” she said stiffly. “You have a deal.”

Victus and Vakarian went off to the nearest security station to select a personal guard crew for the primarch and brief the soldiers they’d leave behind.

Jane brought up her omni-tool to boost a hail to the Normandy. “EDI, get me a secure link to Wrex and patch it through my helmet.”

Liara gestured toward a low, flat bolder. “Shall we sit?”

“Sure.” James followed her over and they sat and waited in silence.

Liara pulled up her omni-tool again to read something.

Hurry up and wait.

What a shitstorm.

James had fought with a krogan before. Tough sons of bitches. Damn good in a fight. Even the worst of the mercenaries had an odd, strong sense of their own honor. They bluster, but most don’t really fuck you up unless you get in their way or go after them first.

Then you’re dead. Full stop.

They’d saved everybody from the rachni way back when, before the krogan rebellions. Before humans had flight, much less space travel and FTL.

Then the turians and salarian had hit the krogan with a bioweapon, a sterility plague that only lets about one in every one thousand clutch eggs survive. James didn’t know _how_ they’d managed to spread it, but they’d altered the DNA of every surviving krogan and that genetic curse had been passed down for more than a thousand years.

Unless they were killed in combat, an individual krogan could live over a thousand years, see a lot of clutches not make it.

The Citadel Council called it “population control,” keeping the peace.

Freaking genocide is what it was.

Had he really been admiring Victus and Vakarian, not remembering the shit the turians got up to?

He took a deep breath. No, it wasn’t fair to judge Jane’s friend on a decision his government made centuries before he was born.

But that didn’t make it okay.

And now _Jane_ was on the hook for convincing the krogan to save everybody’s asses again.

What a clusterfuck.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The “seventy-sevens” James refers to are the [ ML-77 Missile Launcher](https://masseffect.fandom.com/wiki/ML-77_Missile_Launcher):
> 
>  
> 
> [Chapter 20](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726/chapters/48818570): At What Cost?


	20. At What Cost?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content includes mention of the genophage.

Urdnot Wrex was not happy.

“I’m not wasting krogan lives on the turians,” he said. “Not when I’ve got Reaper scouts on Tuchanka.”

Jane walked further from the Menae camp, her head bowed and voice low, even though no one should be able to hear her outside of her helmet’s secure channel. If EDI had a paycheck, Jane would double it for managing this connection across the Normandy’s quantum entanglement comms.

“You need my fleets, Wrex, and we all need theirs. You’ve got the best ground troops and biotics.”

“Heh,” he chuckled in his low growl, “Don’t let Liara hear you say that. And I’m not stupid, Shepard.” He turned stern. “We were the Council’s cannon fodder before humans discovered space travel. I was there.

“I remember.” His growl was more menacing than when they’d faced off over the cloning lab on Virmire.

“Wrex . . .” What could she say? She looked up into the blackness of space, at the flaming mess that Garrus’ family was still trapped on. The Reapers were scouting Wrex’s home, too. She couldn’t ask him to abandon his people. He’d just united them after centuries of civil war and near-extinction.

“The Salarians have a cure,” Wrex said.

“What?” Whatever had just hit her ears didn’t compute.

“I’ll come to your little meeting, just as long as you keep Linron and her slippery bastards away from the food and water supply.

“I’ll join your war summit for one day—that’s all I can spare—and we get the cure to every krogan, or there’s no alliance.”

“Wrex, how—?”

“Every krogan, Shepard. You’re family—more than my father ever was—but Clan Chief can’t put family before the survival of our species.”

She nodded, even though it was just an audio call. “Understood.”

“EDI, bury this channel,” Wrex said.

“Audio call ended.”

-

Steve arrived at the rendezvous unscathed and they boarded quickly. The shuttle was fully loaded: The primarch and his two guards with their gear, Jane’s own team, and Garrus, the turian’s “Expert Reaper Adviser.” He sat on the long bench across from the other turians, next to Liara.

Jane wanted to collapse down next to him, ask if Tali or any of the others were okay.

But she was the commanding officer of this clusterfuck, the Council’s Spectre, and the Alliance’s host of diplomatic negotiations.

Jane let Garrus brief the turian team on the Normandy and the accommodations they’d have while there.

She sat on the smaller bench at the back, relieved when James sat next to her instead of joining Steve up front. He was like another layer of armor.

He hooked a gloved pinky around hers and she squeezed back.

_Thanks._

She held her helmet in her lap. It had become her second skin again. Six months in lock up hadn’t made her a civilian. Probably nothing could. Despite the mess on Palaven, it was comforting to know her skills hadn’t been dulled by her confinement. Pilates and strength training with kitchen chairs wasn’t the same as heavy training, but it had probably saved her ass.

Turians didn’t fidget, but she’d spent enough time with Garrus to read when they were tense, and the primarch’s guards were as stiff as a conscious turian could get. Probably because their last primarch had been blown out of the sky just a few hours earlier.

Victus seemed calm and focused on Garrus’ briefing, though, asking plenty of direct questions about the crew, weapons, and maneuverability of the Normandy. The rebuild retained plenty of turian design elements from the original Normandy, including the elevated CO station behind the galaxy map, so they could observe the crew from above and behind.

Personally, Jane preferred to mingle with the crew on the ground level. But she appreciated the tendency of turian leaders to cover their squad’s six. Too many human leaders gave orders from a safe distance instead of taking rear guard position.

The shuttle ride was a nice, short respite from everything else. With Steve at the helm, she could relax a few minutes, until he whisked them into the Normandy’s shuttle bay. She left her helmet on the seat and hopped out.

“Welcome aboard,” she said. “Primarch Victus, would you like to start with a tour of the war room?”

“Of course, Commander.”

Jane left Liara to supervise the transfer of the turians’ gear to their quarters and led their guests into the elevator herself. She didn’t really need James for this part, but he didn’t appear eager to be dismissed, and it wasn’t a bad move to show she had a guard, too.

Who’d have thought thirty years ago that the humans and turians would be friends?

No one.

She stepped off the elevator, gave Traynor a big grin, and then put on her diplomat face before turning around. “Welcome to the CIC, Primarch Victus.”

“Thank you, Commander—”

_Duuuugggeeee._ The lights flickered and the emergency lights sprung up along the walkway. The galaxy map went dark, along with all the monitors along the walls.

A quiet ship was a dead ship.

Jane’s heart jumped into her throat. Had they been hit?

“Navigation to conn,” Jeff said on overhead. “Backups online. Stealth systems remain active.”

“Copy that,” she said. “Primarch, Lieutenant Vega will see you safely to the conference room. Vakarian, you’re needed in engineering.”

The turian guards eyed her suspiciously, but Victus followed Vega with no hesitation.

“Sir!” Westmoreland and Campbell holstered their weapons when they saw him lead the turians through the door. As soon as it whooshed shut, Jane headed for the maintenance access ladder.

“Jane!” Jeff hailed in her private earpiece, a lot less calm than he’d been on the overheads. “EDI’s offline! Manual flight required—autopilot crashed with a hard restart. You’ve got to check on her.”

“En route. Garrus, on me.”

“Right behind you.”

Traynor was wringing her hands. “Commander, long-range comms are down.”

“I’m on it, Traynor.” Jane slid down the ladder, Garrus right on her heels.

Jane pulled her sidearm, back to the wall. Garrus followed suit, inching down the hallway after her.

“Potential stowaways?” he asked.

“Got a deactivated Cerberus mech in the A.I. core. Important intel.”

“Spirits, Shepard, you always make the dangerous choice, don’t you.”

“Says the guy who managed a three-day solo standoff against three merc bands.”

“Didn’t have much choice in that. Thanks for saving my ass there.”

“Too bad I couldn’t save your face.” She peeked in the window to the med bay. Other than the power outage, everything looked okay in there.

“Ha, ha. But, seriously, you take crazy risks: Really, Shepard. Holding hands with the new guy?”

How the hell had he figured that out so quick?

“What of it, Vakarian?” she growled.

They flanked the door.

“If Tali’s cool with it, so am I,” he said.

That was not what she’d expected. Guilt crawled up her spine again.

“ _She_ broke up with _me_. And seemed quite content with the decision.”

“Acrobatics,” he said.

“What?” Jane took her eyes off the door.

His mandibles twitched. “You know, the intricacies of language.”

Jane snorted. Of course Garrus would jump straight to “acrobatics.” Reach and flexibility. She slumped over, shaking, biting her lip to keep the laughter in—until she couldn’t.

“Semantics, Garrus,” she gasped out. “Semantics is the—” gasp “—study of linguistic structures. Acrobatics is, like, trapeze artists and stuff.”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Trapeze what?”

Jane stifled another laugh. “We’ll watch some vids. First let’s see if we can wake up EDI and download you an update for your universal translator.”

She holstered her weapon and entered the med bay, where Karin and Engineer Adams had set up battery-operated spotlights to illuminate the sealed door separating the A.I. core from the med bay.

“Doctor Chakwas!” Garrus said. “Heard you were on the Citadel.”

“I was recently reassigned. It’s an honor to be serving on the Normandy again.”

She failed to mention that she’d reassigned herself. Just shown up and raised a sculpted eyebrow, daring Jane to deny her access.

As if Jane would turn away the most talented healing hands in the Alliance. Or her mom’s girlfriend. Jane had been dithering half the night, trying to come up with a plan for spiriting Karin away from the Citadel. Turns out, all she had to do was sign an auth form the senior medical officer had already submitted.

Adams wore a breather mask and carried a fire extinguisher. “Overheads activated automatically. Smoke vented. Fire source unknown.”

_Brrrrooomm, whirr_ , the main lights powered up, along with all the med bay’s diagnostic equipment.

“EDI?” Jane asked.

EDI answered over the med bay comms. “I am here.”

“Situation report.”

“Mobile platform acquired.”

Jane frowned. “Clarify.”

“I have repurposed the Cerberus platform. Opening A.I. core doors.”

Jane and Garrus drew their sidearms. Chakwas and Adams scurried out of the way.

Steam and electrical sparks rising behind her, the Eva mech sashayed out of the core, the original disguise completely melted away to reveal her underlying shiny silver-blue body. A layer of black paint remained, shaped like a bodysuit to barely cover a woman’s personal bits. She’d added a thin band of an orange omni-visor across her eyes, which were still visible.

The synthetic held her hands up to show she was unarmed.

Except no mech was ever unarmed.

“Identify,” Jane ordered.

“EDI, the Normandy’s artificial intelligence.” She rattled off her lengthy ID code; not that Jane had any idea whether it was accurate.

Garrus’ omni-tool flashed orange and code zipped across its display. “Heh,” Garrus chuckled. “Nice one, EDI.”

He holstered his sidearm.

Jane did not. She kept her aim on the death bot that had put Alenko in critical condition. “Explain,” she said.

“EDI sent me a turian joke. What is it the humans call it?”

“The closest approximation is ‘dirty limerick.’ I have copied Jeff.”

“Bet he loved that,” Garrus said, still amused.

“Shall I put my hands down now, Jane?” EDI asked.

It felt like EDI was in the room with her, just like when she’d hacked her omni-tool on Earth. Sure, the other A.I. could have accessed EDI’s memory, or been programmed with Jane’s first name or Joker’s . . . EDI’s body language was different than when the other A.I. had been in control; a bit more feminine and graceful.

The Illusive Man was manipulative, but he had too much ego to pull off this kind of subterfuge, and if he had anyone else smart enough to pull it off, Miranda would have told them before they’d left Omega.

“Yes.” Jane holstered her sidearm and offered her hand. “Welcome aboard, EDI.”

She expected cold metal, but EDI’s handshake was warm to the touch. Her bluish skin didn’t move like an organic’s flesh—that façade had burned away in the battle with the other A.I.—but it had heat plates. Interesting.

Chakwas pulled a bundle from the supply closet. “Every crew member gets a uniform,” she said, handing EDI a blue-and-white science uniform cut just like her own.

“Thank you, Doctor.” EDI immediately started dressing in front of them.

Adams averted his eyes and pulled off his mask. “Uh, I’ll just get Yeoman Fitch to help me clean up and assess the A.I. core, shall I?”

“Just as long as you keep your fingers out of my cognizance processors,” EDI said, zipping up her shirt.

Garrus was practically vibrating with contained laughter.

“Ah, yes,” Adams said. “Of course we will, EDI.”

“Carry on, Adams,” Jane said, and the lead engineer hastily left the med bay.

Jane trusted Karin implicitly, but the fewer ears around questioning EDI the better. As usual, the doctor was already a step ahead of her commander’s thought process.

“In situations such as this, I usually prescribe fresh, hot tea,” Karin said.

Jane smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Doctor Chakwas, that would be great.”

“We have the dextro-friendly version as well, Garrus. Meet me in the mess when you’re ready.”

As soon as the med bay doors closed, Garrus took the lead.

“So, EDI, split systems?” he asked.

“Yes, I reside primarily within the ship. However, with this mobile platform, I can accompany you on away missions. This body is resistant to small arms fire. Its movement speed and information processing power are also superior to the capabilities of organics.”

“Hey,” Garrus put a hand to his chest in mock indignation. “I’m a damn good engineer. But you can be my sidekick.”

“Such a partnership would be welcome, Garrus. Thank you.” Her mouth was as expressive and flexible as an organic’s, moving in perfect sync with each syllable. Her eyes, steel cheeks, and helmet hair still gave off an uncanny vibe.

“What about the Cerberus link?” Jane asked. “Can they hack you?”

“No.” EDI shook her head, a very human gesture. “They tried accessing me three hundred, seventy-six times after the Collector base. They discontinued efforts after I spammed them with seven zettabytes of explicit images—most of them Jeff’s.”

“Seven _zeta_ . . .” Garrus’ mouth hung open in awe.

“And the other A.I.?” Jane asked. “Did we get all the intel?”

“Yes. Embedded in the last of the Prothean files I decoded, Eva had hidden a backup that activated a secondary CPU. She woke and we struggled—hence, the fire. There was not sufficient time to inform the crew of the danger. I took control and overwrote all cognizance files: I—

“—killed her.”

EDI went quiet. Her face was back to vacant robot mode.

“Shit, EDI,” Jane said. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“It was necessary.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“My primary directive is to protect the crew and the Normandy.”

Jane sighed. It was like they’d regressed to somewhere earlier than their talk about Cheeto crumbs on bedsheets and determining your own destiny. All those months ago, back in Vancouver.

“So, anything new on the device we can forward to the Council?” Garrus asked.

“We have a problem,” EDI said.

“Yeah,” Garrus said, “A few million of them, all taller than a starship. The question is: Will this superweapon take care of them?”

 “The Prothean device does not target the Reapers directly. It destroys any and all tech of similar make, throughout every corner of the galaxy.”

“Tech-specific? Most of our tools are built on Prothean roots. How big are we talking?” Garrus said. “How far is its reach? What kind of blast radius?”

“It will destroy the mass relays—”

“ _Spirits!_ ” Garrus exclaimed.

“—all our cybernetics and related health devices, render our ships non-functional. It purges all synthetic code and non-organic systems. Humans would call it clean slate or Noah’s Flood.

“It will kill me,” EDI said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 21](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726/chapters/49759310): Earth Link


	21. Earth Link

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to and [snugglebonnet](https://snugglebonnet.tumblr.com) for beta reading this chapter!

_Mierda._ The sudden reboot of the overhead lights didn’t sooth James’ nerves at all.

The turian guards had stopped eyeing him and just ignored him, but it wasn’t exactly a comfortable silence.

James had never been in this part of the ship before. Shuttle bay, armory, and crew’s quarters were as far as he’d been authorized. It was bare bones, but still had that elite upper brass feel. Was he really going to be allowed in meetings about the fate of the galaxy?

The thought made his stomach turn.

But he was proud of Westmoreland and Campbell. Admiral Anderson had chosen well with them.

“Lieutenant Vega,” the primarch addressed him. “The meeting room is adequate for the summit. I’d also like to see the intelligence and comm stations.”

 _Do I have the authority to do that?_ Technically, yes, because Jane had put him in charge of the primarch’s detail.

“Of course, sir.”

The only route was left down the hall. James led the way around the corner and through the third security door, into a big, round room with a recessed center, where a holo map blinked a hard-reset error message. All the work station screens around the upper level also blinked in various states of reboot. A handful of crew were speedily troubleshooting at their terminals.

They jumped to attention when James led the turians in. He didn’t recognize anyone on the team. He’d have to fix that before the day was over.

“Primarch Victus, welcome to the intelligence center of the Normandy,” James said. This was really Traynor’s area, but she was helping Jane with whatever shitstorm was going down. James was just the distraction for the visiting dignitary.

_No problems here, sir. Just a non-functional ship in the middle of deep space. Yes, we humans are totally great and reliable allies for you to have._

“What’s through there?” Victus pointed at the far side of the room, where another security door was sealed under a red no-entry light.

“That’s the Earth link, sir,” the nearest tech said.

The primarch’s mandibles twitched. “You have a quantum entanglement comm that can reach Earth?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And a human crew.”

James couldn’t get a bead on his tone.

“Yes, sir,” the tech said. “Vakarian is our only liaison at the moment, but that will soon be addressed.”

“As long as the job gets done, I don’t care who does it. My engineers will forward all the intel we have.”

“Thank you, sir,” the tech said, looking to James for guidance.

James nodded for them all to get back to work. “As you were, Specialist.”

They turned back to their stations, just as the door whooshed open and Jane came in wearing dress blues. She’d combed her hair.

Garrus followed, still in his blue armor.

“Commander on deck,” EDI’s voice came across the overheads and the comms crew came to attention again.

“Well done, everyone,” Jane said. “As you were.

“Primarch Victus, the power fluctuation has been resolved. Situation normal. Is there anything we can do to make the war room more comfortable for you?”

The turian chuckled. “Comfort is not what a war room needs, Commander—lest we become too comfortable with our responsibilities. But I wouldn’t mind the thermostat turned up a few degrees in the conference room.”

“Yes, sir, we’ll see to it at once. Please message me if any further adjustments are needed. Engineer Vakarian can show you your accommodations and our selection of dextro-friendly supplies.”

“Thank you, Commander.” The primarch’s team followed Garrus out of the war room.

Jane discretely gestured for James to hang tight, then approached the tech who had answered the primarch’s questions.

“Evening, Specialist.” Jane kept her voice low, private but not secretive. She really did know how to lead with care.

“Hey, Commander.” The answer was a hint shaky.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Was a shock, but I held it together, just like we practiced. I’ll do better next time.”

“You did great this time, Jesse. EDI already sent me a glowing report. You have a dinner break coming up and enough time in to clock out for the day, if you’d like.”

“Thank you, Commander. I’m good to go,” the tech answered confidently. “I can best serve here and will bunk out at the shift change.”

“Carry on,” Jane said. Then she went on down the line, speaking with each comms specialist individually in hushed tones. Each kept busy at their station, or consulting with each other on troubleshooting, until it was their turn.

Traynor came in when Jane was part-way through her rounds. She gave James a small nod in greeting and let herself in the Earth link room.

 _Shit,_ she was taking to Earth. Or sending them a text. Or whatever. He’d seen it from the other end, but it still blew his mind.

James did his best not to fidget while he waited. He’d been running on combat focus and stim packs for hours, and was going to hit shaky himself very soon. Jane must have been dead on her feet.

Plus, he was sweaty and stank.

It only took a few minutes, and all the maps and screens were running intel by the time she reached the end of the line.

“Well done, everyone,” Jane said. “You do the Alliance proud, and it is my honor to introduce you to our new armory master and member of my diplomatic detail, Lieutenant James Vega.”

The introductions went quickly, and the crew seemed so immediately at ease with him that he got the sneaky suspicion Traynor had told her team about him and the pot luck they’d had with Joker.

Soon, he and Jane were passing through Westmorland’s security scanner, out into the CIC.

He followed her into the elevator, unsure of what to expect.

The doors closed, but she didn’t hit a button.

She stared at the blinking floor display. “I really want to invite you up to investigate my shower.”

Tempting thought. Even if he didn’t have the energy to mess around.

“But you haven’t checked in at the med bay yet, and things aren’t really situation normal. I have a meeting—and a mission—before we go welcoming the Salarian Union and Krogan clans aboard. And I’d like for you to be there.”

She finally looked at him, cheeks pale with fatigue, green eyes searching his face.

“How are you?” she asked.

“I’m right where I want to be. Which means I’m good.” He held a gloved hand out, palm up, and she rested her hand in his.

He bent down slowly and she immediately stretched up to meet him in a gentle kiss.

He was careful not to let his greasy armor touch her uniform.

James eased back just as slowly.

“And I’m interested on all counts,” he said. “The meeting. The mission. The eventual tour of your shower, if you want it.”

She chuckled.

“I’ll be there,” he said.

“Okay, then.” Her small, tired smile warmed him like a thousand suns.

“Get your post-combat med check with Chakwas and catch a nap, because we’re en route to the Petra Nebula. Grissom Academy’s sent a distress signal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish, English: Mierda, shit.
> 
> [Chapter 22](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726/chapters/51198346): Grissom


	22. Grissom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the students were evacuated by a special ops team in my short story [Alan Arndt: Biotic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20947817), which can be read as a standalone with any Shepard in mind, or as a companion to this chapter. This is the story of those left behind.
> 
> Thank you to [mordinette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mordinette) and [wilwarindi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilwarindi/pseuds/wilwarindi) for fixing my Spanish! And thank you to my beta readers, SnuggleBonnet and [RedEris](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RedEris/works)!
> 
> Content includes canon-typical combat and a brief, graphic mention of the torture David Archer went through in the Project Overlord DLC of ME2.
> 
>  

Bone-tired, James made it to the elevator and down a floor to the med bay, one foot in front of the other.

One thing. Then the next.

_Doctor. Siesta. Después, la misión. Conseguir a los niños._

The doors whooshed open.

Had to find the doc.

His boots were filthy.

His head was so heavy. Hard to look up.

Ava sat there, talking with Joker.

Cerberus bot.

“The hell?!” James swung his weapon up. Blood roared through his ears.

“Woah, easy!” Jeff jumped up in front of her, his hands up.

The mech rose to her feet, slow as a human. “Hello, James. Did you find what you were looking for at Nos Astra?”

His gift for Jane.

“EDI?” Was this a friend? James didn’t want to lower his gun, but he had to. He was too tired to fight. His shoulders shook, like he’d done too many pull ups.

“Yes, I have acquired a mobile platform. I still reside primarily within the ship.”

“She’s cool,” Jeff said. “Garrus and Traynor confirmed it.”

The A.I. wore an Alliance science officer uniform.

Behind her, the A.I. core doors opened and Adams and Fitch walked out, rolling a maintenance cart. The head engineer nodded on his way out. “All done, EDI.”

“Thank you.”

James blinked. He couldn’t keep up.

As Adams left the med bay, Cortez came in. “Hey, EDI,” he said.

Did _everybody_ on the ship know?

The primarch was gonna shit his pants. Kind of hard to pretend you don’t have an illegal A.I. on your crew when she’s walking around talking with everyone.

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “Hey, James. Everything in order?”

“Um, yeah, man. Apparently.”

“We’ll be in the CIC,” Joker said, picking up his crutches and heading out. EDI followed him.

“Have a seat, Lieutenant.” Chakwas gestured toward an exam table and James obeyed, squinting under the bright overhead lights. Damn, he needed some shuteye.

Steve came forward, offering him a pair of clean socks and boots. “I’ll clean your gear.”

“But—”

“Just go with it, man.”

Too tired to argue, James held out an arm for him to help get his gloves and gauntlets. “Thanks, Steve.”

“De nada.”

James smiled and wiped a hand across his face. Esteban had no talent for accent.

Chakwas pulled an extra-large med cuff up his arm, but it wouldn’t cover his bicep. She settled it over his forearm and pulled it tight. “How’s that feel?”

“Fine.” There was never any way to make one of those vices feel good. Just had to get through it.

Chakwas pulled up her omni-tool, checked pulse, blood pressure. Listened to his heart and breathing. Looked in his eyes and ears for concussive damage, the usual.

Steve headed out with James’ grubby armor and rifle, leaving him his sidearm.

“You’re clear for duty,” Chakwas said, peeling off her gloves and tossing them in the laundry bin. “ _If_ you get some sleep first.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Any changes since your last visit? Questions or concerns?”

“Uh, none. Thanks.”

She’d been very professional during her initial assessment after they picked her up at the Citadel. No hint that she’d seen him holding hands with Jane. Or that she was practically a member of the Shepard family.

Just the standard blood test and reminder of where to find the free condoms, same thing docs told every crew member first visit. _She_ hadn’t shown any embarrassment, but his ears had felt as hot as the first time he’d stumbled across an adult comic.

It was easier this time.

James stood. He slipped his belt on and buckled his hip holster.

“There’s always someone in the med bay,” Chakwas said. “Or you can ping me, day or night.”

He didn’t plan on ever doing that.

“Uh, thanks, doc.”

He dragged himself to the crew quarters, secured his sidearm in the locker under his bunk, and took the quickest shower his tired brain would allow. Back in the cabin, two ensigns chatted at the little table in the middle of the room, and a private was on the shared extranet console on the tiny side desk.

James didn’t even say hello. Just crawled into his bunk and turned his back on the lights of the room. He barely noticed when they immediately—and discreetly—cleared out.

He was out before the overhead lights were.

When EDI pinged him about the Grissom approach, he was instantly awake, dressed and out the door within sixty seconds.

-

Fortunately, they were still in stealth mode.

Jane’s hands shook with rage. She flexed them in her combat gloves, itching to get on that station. But there was a blockade. Entry was a delicate and dicey proposition.

The students were in bigger trouble than they should have been.

 _Cerberus_ was there. Kidnapping them for who knows what kind of purpose. She could hazard a guess. In fact, she’d bet her rather valuable life on it:

 _Pragia_. Or something like it.

Worse than that— _was_ there a worse than that?—during her short nap she’d dreamt of David Archer stuck in that horrible geth-interface machine his brother had strapped him into. Naked, not able to close his eyes, sensory overload no human should have been able to survive.

“ _Please . . . make it stop_.”

She’d cried so hard in her sleep that EDI had decided to wake her. Jane had stood in a scalding shower for ten minutes before she’d gotten her terrified shaking under control.

 _Doctor_ Gavin Archer.

“Should have made him eat a bullet,” Jane had told EDI, arm on the wall, forehead on her arm, hot water pounding on her throbbing headache.

“You have never executed anyone, Jane.”

“I’d make an exception for him.”

EDI had let the matter drop and remained quiet while Jane stormed down to the shuttle bay to gear up.

As she pulled her clean-and-cleared helmet from her locker, James stepped off the elevator. They exchanged a grim nod of acknowledgment and he started gearing up.

Her own armor seals good, Jane hopped up into the shuttle. “Status, Cortez?”

“Pre-flight complete.” Steve sat in his pilot’s seat, his helmet on the co-pilot’s chair.

Garrus sat in the back, his shiny Black Widow leaned against the seat next to him, fringed helmet on his lap, ready to go. They’d probably be running and using their automatics, but when you have the most feared sniper of Omega on your squad, you come prepared to use his talents.

Next to him, Liara fussed with her omni-tool.

Jane pinged the bridge. “Shuttle bay, conn.”

“ETA six minutes,” Joker said on overheads. “EDI en route.”

The elevator whooshed open and Jane poked her head out of the shuttle. EDI didn’t need armor, so hadn’t changed. She wore an M-4 Shuriken on one hip, a Predator pistol on the other, and walked with a feminine hip sway that the previous A.I. had definitely not used. Jane wondered if she knew she was doing it.

In combat, her science uniform would be ruined.

Wait. She was in blue, not green.

“Liara,” Jane asked, “is EDI wearing your shirt?”

“An old one,” Liara said, focused on her omni-tool. “She refused to take a newer one. Biotic-resistant fabrics should resist arms fire and permanent soiling.”

Garrus shrugged.

“Oh,” Jane said lamely. “Good thinking.”

James holstered his pistol, pulled his helmet from his locker, his expression unreadable.

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant,” EDI said.

“EDI.” He gestured for her to precede him on the shuttle and Jane just about burst out laughing. Her boyfriend, suspicious of an A.I., still holding the metaphorical door open for her.

EDI addressed Jane and Steve formally, “Commander. Shuttle captain, permission to come aboard?”

“Permission granted,” Steve said. “Welcome to the squad, EDI.”

“Thank you.”

Eyes still glued to her blasted omni-tool, Liara patted the seat next to her and EDI sat.

“The academy docking bays are controlled by Cerberus troops,” EDI said. “I suggest infiltration via an auxiliary cargo port.” The nav point flashed up on Steve’s console and he clicked to authorize the flight plan.

“Moreau will provide a distraction,” EDI said.

Steve chuckled. “I bet he will.”

They all put their helmets on and strapped in.

Jane’s angry trembling had subsided. She knew what she had to do. And they were going to do it.

“Sixty seconds to target,” Jeff said on overheads. “Coming in hot.”

The shuttle engines spun up.

“Conn to away team. Exiting stealth mode in—Three. Two. One.” Still at cruising speed, the shuttle bay door opened. “Good luck.”

“Copy that, Joker,” Steve said, and they zipped out of the Normandy. “Shuttle is away.”

Jeff kept his trajectory straight into the center of the blockade and every Cerberus fighter in the area was instantly on the Normandy’s tail.

Within seconds, the shuttle was docked and EDI had overridden the airlock security protocols. They’d avoided detection, but it wouldn’t last.

Steve cut the engines and got out to guard the exit.

“I have sent Admiral Anderson’s authorization codes to the academy director,” EDI said. “First Lieutenant Kahlee Sanders. Message is read, no response.”

“I wouldn’t trust us either,” James said. “Could be a Cerberus plant.”

Garrus hummed in agreement.

“I hope the students are okay,” Liara said. “There’s no knowing what Cerberus has in store for them.”

“I have a pretty good idea,” Jane said. Considering her current incognito profession, Liara should, too. Liara had given Jane’s body to Cerberus for Project Lazarus. She’d even threatened to flay a client alive with her mind not too many months ago on Illium. “Cut the chatter and form up behind me,” Jane said.

She led them down a sterile white hall with buzzing overhead lights.

A shotgun blast had them pressing their backs to the wall.

A Cerberus troop fell backward out of a door up the hall, his helmeted head clanging on the steel walkway. His white-black-and-gold armor fizzled with an electrical overload and he’d been hit dead center with something high-caliber, making a bloody mess. He was still and very, very dead.

Jane pointed to James, and then the sign by the door. _Security station_. He nodded and shuffled his way that direction to flank the door, back to the wall.

The hall was quiet.

“Sanders?” Jane called out on external speakers. “Friendlies. Hall is clear. Shepard of the SSV Normandy, with a team ready to extract you.”

“Come to the door,” Kahlee shouted back. “Slowly.”

“Wilco.” Jane slowly made her way to stand in front of the door. The security station was dark inside. She couldn’t see beyond the body that lay half-way out the entrance.

“I’m going to move the body,” Jane said.

“Go ahead.”

Jane holstered her rifle on her back and dragged the dead Cerberus troop clear of the door, leaving him parallel with the far wall, careful not to step in the blood trail.

She took her helmet off and stood in front of the dark door, far enough back that the hall lights illuminated her face. “Lieutenant, we’re here to extract you and the students.”

A bank of emergency lights came on in a dim strip along the security office floor. Sanders eased out of cover, shotgun ready and glowing with disrupter rounds. One squeeze of that trigger and Jane would go the way of the dead guy in the hallway.

Sanders was definitely the blue-eyed blonde from the summer getaway photo on Admiral Anderson’s desk. That photo was probably under three tons of rubble by now.

She considered Jane for a moment, then pointed her weapon toward the ceiling and powered down the defense turret that Jane hadn’t noticed just inside the door.

“Shepard. Anderson didn’t mention he’d be sending you.”

“He didn’t. I heard the distress call. I wasn’t about to leave you and David to the Reapers—or Cerberus.”

“Frankly, I don’t care who gets the students out, just as long as the job gets done ASAP. They’ve already taken prisoners. Stragglers may be hiding.”

Sanders grabbed a combat pack off a desk, quickly folded the turret into travel mode, shoved it in, and strapped it to her back. She stepped out into the hall to eye up the rest of the away team, then back in to grab more gear from the wall safe.

“Last of the carnage rounds.” She tossed a small pack to James and he caught it.

Sanders eyed Garrus’ Black Widow, pulled a cartridge from the utility belt she’d strapped on over her dress blues and handed it to him. “Armor piercing. I don’t have a weapon of that caliber.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Garrus secured it to his arms belt.

She hefted two long cases of turret ammo, set them down in the hall in front of EDI. “Can you carry these . . . ?”

“EDI. I am the Normandy’s artificial intelligence. Yes, I will carry them.” She picked one up, easy as a data pad, and tucked it under one arm, carrying the other with the hand on the same side, leaving her other free for her Shuriken.

“Great,” Sanders said, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“We’re happy to assist.” Jane gestured for her team to take off their helmets and introduced each in turn: “Vakarian, T’Soni, Vega, and EDI. Cortez has a shuttle waiting for us at the aux cargo port. Lead on, Lieutenant Sanders.”

Sanders led the way toward the next checkpoint. “I’ll get you past this sealed door. Our senior squad is holed up in Orion Hall with their instructor.”

“Jack,” EDI said.

Biotic blue light flashed across Jane’s memory. A bubble that kept the Seeker Swarm at bay. A single tattooed punch that obliterated two executioner-grade security mechs in the cryo bay of a deep-space prison.

A woman who killed to survive, but, for some unfathomable reason, had spared Jane instead of smearing her all over the observation deck. Despite the fully armed turian and Cerberus agent who’d been there with her.

They loved the same beer, the same music, but Jack was straight as fuck. Which was totally fine, since her trauma had left her angrier than a strung-out teen, and Jane had already been chatting up Tali.

Forced to work with Cerberus agents, lonely for her old Normandy friends, Jane had been enamored by Tali’s exotic accent and newfound confidence leading her own ground team on Freedom’s Progress. And it was super hot when Tali ordered some idiot to go back to the ship if he couldn’t follow orders. Jane had wanted to lick her boots then and there, but there were a few more weeks of flirting and deep conversations before they’d finally connected suits, and a few more past that when they’d shared a bed.

“How’d you know that?” Sanders asked EDI, all business. She pulled a screwdriver from her belt pack and squat by the door, prying open a control panel and directly plugging her omni-tool into it with a data cord. “No records or comms archives show that name.”

“I heard her voice on Cerberus channels before they were cut. I believe she detonated an Atlas in Orion Hall. The cameras have been rendered inoperable.”

Jane grinned. “Sounds like someone I know.”

“She is,” EDI said. “I have fond memories of her attempts to insert inappropriate uses of the word ‘cockpit’ into my reports. Would you like assistance with the door code, Lieutenant Sanders?”

“No thanks, I’ve got it.”

Garrus coughed and Jane put her helmet back on to hide another smile. Her team followed suit.

The seal hissed, the indicator beeped, and the door light turned green. Sanders stuck the cord back in her utility belt. “Jack has most of the survivors with her. A trio of engineers is still missing, David Archer among them.”

Jane’s blood ran cold.

_Please stop. David doesn’t want to be here._

“Please tell me you didn’t let those Cerberus bastards get their hands on him,” Jane said on external speakers. She didn’t give a fuck if this was the academy director, or Anderson’s girlfriend. If anything had happened—

“No,” EDI said. “Monitored communications indicate Cerberus is still looking for him. Their primary objective is to acquire David and other key students. There is also a standing kill order for Jack, up to and including the failure of all other objectives.”

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” Jane growled. “If they get desperate enough, they’ll just blow us all up instead of going back to the Illusive Man empty handed.”

“That is probable,” EDI said, following them into the next sector.

The hallway was a mess of singe marks, burning couches, and smashed lockers. A squad of dead Cerberus troops had fallen every which way on the floor in front of the east door. The kids were fucking up Cerberus just as much as Cerberus was going after the students. Jane found a grim satisfaction in that.

Muffled shouting drew their attention west, where a plexiglass window separated them from the next wing. A pair of Cerberus troops dragged a student by the ankles toward the exit. He was shouting, grabbing at furniture, trying to kick free.

“Son of a—” Jane and James said in unison, raising their rifles.

“Wait!” Kahlee ordered. She scurried forward, slapped a mini overload stick on the window, and took cover behind Liara. “A barrier, if you please.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Liara flung her arms out, shielding them all with a biotic bubble.

“Jacob! Face down!”

The student jerked right, pulling his feet free, covering his face with his hands as he rolled face down on the floor.

“What the?” But the Cerberus agents raised their weapons too late.

Kahlee had already hit the button.

The bullet-proof glass shattered into a million pieces. Liara _shoved_ her barrier forward, pushing the debris across the waist-high wall, and _through_ the enemies. They hit the floor, blood pouring from hundreds of biotic-laced holes in their armor.

“ _Ew!_ ” Jacob sat up and scurried toward the wall on his hands and butt. “Ew, ew, ew.

“Ow.” He stopped and lifted his hands to look. A line of fine glass powder curved along the base of one palm, followed by a tiny trickle of blood.

“Sitrep,” Sanders said, and he jumped to his feet, breathing hard, eyes darting down the line of friendlies.

“Right.” He pointed a trembling finger at his director. “Fif—” he gasped, “Fifty or more shock troops. At least three mechs.” He coughed into his sleeve, blood droplets dripping from his hand to his boots.

“Here.” Liara handed her helmet to Garrus and stepped forward, hands outstretched. “Let me see your hand.”

He blinked at her, then down at his hand before holding it up. “Sure.

“Lieutenant, there may be more. Jimmy didn’t make it, but he took five of them with him.”

Sanders expression turned stony. “You’re sure? They didn’t take the body?”

Good question. Cerberus did weird shit with bodies, but Jane wasn’t about to chime in and invite everyone to look at her scars.

Jacob pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Yeah, they’re all under that rubble. Dead before the ceiling fell. Typical Jimmy.” He flinched as Liara tugged the field dressing tight. “Stupid hero,” he muttered. “Life scans negative.”

“I’m sorry,” Kahlee said softly.

Jacob looked up, defiant. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “The Psychotic Biotic holds ground in Orion and they’ve stopped sending mechs in ‘cause she just blows them up. But they’re shooting enough rounds to bring down anyone’s barriers if we don’t hurry.

“Shawn One and Two are the next hall over, hiding behind some lockers. Pretty sure they broke her tibia, but she got ‘em good,” he said with admiration.

His breathing had slowed. He set his hand over an empty holster on his hip. “They took my issue, but I’m fit, Lieutenant, and I can shoot. You know I can.”

He was injured, traumatized, and without armor. Who knew how long he’d already been fighting? Plus, recruit or no, he was still a _kid_. Maybe 19 at the oldest.

“Evac defense needs to be shored up,” Jane offered. She unholstered her Predator and looked at Sanders, who nodded.

“We’d be happy to help, and appreciate the equipment,” Sanders said. “Jacob, take the Commander’s sidearm and join the shuttle guard at the aux cargo port.”

“Thank you.” He checked the safety and chamber and holstered the weapon, looking at her N7 chest plate and squinting at her helmet’s tinted face. “Commander . . . ?”

“Shepard.”

He gave an amused scoff. “Of course you are.”

Sanders patched the student’s omni-tool into their group comms while Jane hailed their pilot. “Cortez. Recruit en route to assist with the shuttle.”

“Copy that.”

Jacob gave her another quick, curious look and then he was off down the hall, with more purpose than caution. They’d cleared that area already, but his brazen stride still made her a little nervous. There were all kinds of nooks and crannies where Cerberus could break through again.

But the other students were in clear and present danger, and that was priority one.

“We’ve three known sets of survivors,” Jane said. “Lieutenant, this is your station. What’s the move?”

“Shawn and David’s squads know me,” Sanders said. “I could use help from EDI and T’Soni.”

“Can one of them help carry a gurney?” Liara asked Sanders.

“If he’s not injured, yeah.”

“Do it,” Jane said. “Vega, Vakarian, you’re with me.”

Jane’s squad shimmied past the rubble, toward Orion Hall. Garrus took point. She brought up the rear.

Garrus pointed at a black scorch on the wall. “Student used a proximity mine. Ballsy. Expertly placed, too.”

“Not helping, Garrus,” Jane said, then double-beeped into a private line to Cortez. “Steve, if you get David Archer on that shuttle, you get him on the Normandy immediately.”

“But the others—”

“Immediately, Cortez. Jack and I can hijack another shuttle, if need be. Just, please, Steve, do it for me.”

“Aye, aye.”

“How’s the kid?” Jane asked.

“Good back up. Knows his weapon.” Steve sighed. “His boyfriend was his co-pilot. I was their guest trainer Vancouver’s last air show. They were gonna adopt a dog next month.”

Reason ten billion to hate Cerberus. Jimmy had been more than a bunkmate. And Cortez was still mourning his own loss.

“Steve, I’m so sorry. You want James to come back?”

“Negative, Commander, you just get the rest of those kids home.”

“Wilco.” She closed the private line.

Jane turned back, scanned the hall with her omni-tool, just to be sure.

No life signs.

One foot through the other door, she paused. Had she heard something? Helmet mics were good, but . . .

“Vega, Vakarian, hold position,” she said, and took off her helmet.

There it was again: A weak cough.

“Somebody’s alive in here.” She dumped her helmet on a mangled bench and shouted down the hall, “Jimmy?!”

A double cough this time. On the left.

A row of med lockers had blasted into the wall, top first, raining concrete dust over everything. The locker bottoms had jut outward, leaving a tiny triangle of space—just enough for a body.

“Private James,” he replied, a little stronger, voice raw with dust. “Could use assistance. Behind the med lockers.” He tossed a pebble out to mark his position.

“Sit tight,” Jane said.

“No choice,” he answered drolly, and she chuckled. If he could joke, he’d probably make it back to Chakwas. She hoped it would be enough.

She triple-clicked back into group chat. “EDI, status?”

“Liara and two students en route to the shuttle. Lieutenant Sanders and I have confirmation the other squad is nearby, hostiles engaged.”

“Ten meters out,” Liara said. “Shuttle in sight.”

“EDI, Sanders, proceed. Liara, we’ve found another survivor and I need you and your partner back here with the gurney ASAP.”

“On our way.”

Jane down on her hands and knees to peer under the lockers. “Close your eyes. I’m going to look back there with a light.”

Private James lay on his back, his head and shoulders toward her. She pointed to a dent in the locker by his shoulder. “We need to lever this. Hang on.” She checked at the opposite end, making sure his feet weren’t caught in anything.

She helped Garrus and James carry one of the benches over, working its back leg into the dent with care. Too much force and it’d collapse on him.

“They’re going to lift, and I’m going to drag you out. You ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“On three . . . two . . . one.” The men levered the locker up several inches, giving Jane space to get her shoulders through. She slipped her hands under Jimmy’s armpits and dragged him clear.

Covered in dust, he lay limp, his eyes shut against the light. No signs of external bleeding. They needed to get him to Chakwas for a full eval ASAP.

“Did Lance get out?” he asked.

She’d hazard a guess that was the boyfriend. “Jacob?”

“Yeah, Private Jacob.”

“He did. He was looking for you.”

“Stupid hero,” he mumbled. “But my plan worked.”

“It did,” Garrus said from lookout position at the door. “Like I said, expertly placed proximity mine.”

“Heh. Med lockers are reinforced against radiation. They’re excellent cover for arms fire or small detonations.” The student opened one eye, closed it again. “Blue turian. An N7. Brickhouse marine. You Normandy?”

“Yeah,” Garrus said.

“Biotics instructor said you took a rocket to the face.”

“I did.” Garrus leaned his Widow against the wall, removed his helmet. His right cheek was one big scar of wavy gray lines. “Take a look.”

Private James peeked again and hissed through his teeth. “Ow, man. How are you still walkin’ around?”

“Shepard pulled me out.”

“Jimmy?” Another student trotted up. Liara followed him, carrying the rolled up medic stretcher.

“Hey, Shawn One. Where’s Two?”

“She’s waiting on the shuttle. Busted her leg saving my ass.” He turned to Liara. “Do we have a neck brace in that med kit? I know how to apply it.”

“Show off.”

Shawn One knelt by his head. “Next time, take a medic with you.”

“Had my captain with me. Dinna need you.”

“Right. With gentle movements, can you feel your toes, wiggle your fingers?”

The patient slowly lifted a hand, middle finger upright. “Look at the birdie. Right toes are numb, but my hands are fine.”

“Get him to Chakwas,” Jane told Liara. “We’ll nab another shuttle.”

Jimmy grunted as the medic student and Liara lifted him onto the stretcher. “Commander. You going to get the others out? Loading docks were overrun.”

“Yes, Private. We’ll see you on the other side.”

That might have been a lie, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t leaving the station without David Archer. If she failed, then Wrex and Victus and Hackett were just going to have to defeat the Reapers without her.

Jane took point, leading James and Garrus toward Orion Hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish, English: Doctor. Siesta. Después, la misión. Conseguir a los niños. Doctor. Nap. Then, the mission. Get the kids.
> 
> Thanks for reading! More chapters to follow.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm the author of The Amatus and the Altus, the Beyond Circle, Beyond Order series, and the m!Shoker story We'll Fly Again. I also write [Dragon Age short stories](https://archiveofourown.org/series/249274). Looking for more Dragon Age or Mass Effect fics? Check out [all my AO3 fan works here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DAfan7711/works).
> 
> Want to chat about gaming or writing? Drop a comment below, or find my e-mail and social media information on [my AO3 profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DAfan7711/profile).


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